tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2528336093434403142024-02-06T20:13:50.622-08:00Thoughts in TransitAlice Tessierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06361513951366109015noreply@blogger.comBlogger19125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-252833609343440314.post-54651998939984871032012-02-13T09:50:00.000-08:002012-02-13T09:50:48.121-08:00Make Walking Count<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwh4S-Te-o0BhqspcscTFRPY8eMR11CPYhdpajDPFawOowi8cJySIQgP0Srwnsxab2TLLNlVt82ob7nsna-1u7VTvgSzHlYMhBrVHTgqtxgMYyhULmIlQbY7rRVDiVOxTaXARnjYzx1yc/s1600/DSCN3386.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="236" sda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwh4S-Te-o0BhqspcscTFRPY8eMR11CPYhdpajDPFawOowi8cJySIQgP0Srwnsxab2TLLNlVt82ob7nsna-1u7VTvgSzHlYMhBrVHTgqtxgMYyhULmIlQbY7rRVDiVOxTaXARnjYzx1yc/s320/DSCN3386.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">This week the New Milford Visiting Nurse Association and the town’s Health Department will kick off a 10,000 steps challenge: A Step in the Right Direction, a nine-week program to get people employed by the town and with the VNA walking for a healthy heart. </span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">It will start on Valentine’s Day for town employees and the following day for the VNA.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">We all, of course, walk our way through our everyday lives, but is it enough? The American Heart Association recommends 10,000 steps as a good goal. Busy moms might think they don’t have time to even think about this, but they probably are well on their way and just don’t know it. Those who sit behind a desk most of the day might want to duck, thinking it’s just not possible, but a look at a pedometer might just persuade them otherwise. How else to start counting? </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Finding one is easy enough—just check out your local pharmacy or discount store. Finding where to put it on your person might be more of a challenge, because it should be someplace that stays with you all or most of the day. Clip it on a pocket maybe?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">My daughter, who works in a public health position, gave me a pedometer in the fall. I didn’t wear it every day—and slacked off when the winter hit and I found myself under the weather. But the steps were adding up, just not consistently.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Working in downtown New Milford, I know several loops, or routes, to keep walking interesting. The first one, in fact, is the parking lot behind the railroad station. It’s a long oval, not a straightaway as traffic racing through might make it first seem. And, to keep things from being boring, my daughter said, there’s always walking backward or a sideways “grapevine” stride! That I did try, much to the amusement of a local police officer in a parked car in the lot I hadn’t noticed until he waved!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Geri Rodda, RN, the town’s community health nurse, pointed out that the participants in the nine-week program will be getting some “fun facts.” All numbers, of course. The smaller ones might seem more encouraging: the fact that the length of Bank Street, where I work, is about 60 steps; the Green, from Bank of America to Tivoli Restaurant is about 100; from the front entrance of the town hall to the Health Department, about 60 steps.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">As your own numbers add up, know that if you’ve walked 2,000 to 2,500 steps you’ve probably gone a mile. And if you’ve walked the 1,860 steps from the ground level of the Empire State Building to the 102<sup>nd</sup> floor you’ve almost walked that far. It was also pointed out that you can achieve approximately the same number by walking the length of Harrybrooke Park.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">The program takes a gradual approach, encouraging participants to increase their steps by 500 to 1,000 as the weeks go by. But not the first week. That’s the week you should aim to find out about yourself, your habits, and think how to make walking a more deliberate part of your life. According to the program, participants should walk for 10 minutes five days a week, with a two-minute warm up before and after setting out. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Now that’s something to build on, isn’t it?</span> </span></div>Alice Tessierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06361513951366109015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-252833609343440314.post-32532460488652808862011-12-05T14:28:00.000-08:002011-12-06T11:52:29.872-08:00Tree Time<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; tab-stops: 72.75pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;">When I was growing up, we were a family that chose a Christmas tree from a stand sponsored by a good cause or at a local farm, also a good cause to be supported. Then, the first year I was married, my tall husband dragged an even taller tree home to our apartment, maneuvering it up the narrow stairwell and into our living room. That year, flush with the maximum of heart, I made every one of the red ornaments that hung on it and then wrapped each separately and boxed them all for another year. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; tab-stops: 72.75pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;">That year, alas, never came—for the ornaments, that is. By our second Christmas, we were living abroad in Ireland and lean of pocket, just as the national economy there was, so there was no tree. Instead, we walked over to the American embassy one cold winter’s night (no snow, not in Dublin) and looked through the windows at the huge, beautifully decorated tree in the foyer. “Next year …, we said.</span></div><h1 style="margin: auto 0in;"><span style="font-size: 18pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">A year’s planned sojourn, working and studying, turned into a nearly 12-year, rich experience, several spent in Dublin and even more in London, with small trees and then somewhat bigger ones dragged along capital streets to our home in the ensuing years. The decorations were less vivid but still personal, especially the “officer of the guard” articulated paper figure my son, then 2 or 3, made in pre-school and still gets walked out for the holidays. We celebrated by exchanging flowering cyclamen plants and a toast with closest friends—as well as enjoyed great meals made all the better for the company. </span></h1><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; tab-stops: 72.75pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;">Back stateside, we wanted a “real tree”—big, fragrant and bushy—and year after year, our family of four would go out and tag one early in the season, if we remembered, until a superbly choice tree became the gift my brother gave to us—delivered right to our doorstep.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; tab-stops: 72.75pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;">But all those red ornaments were gone forever, lost in the move or, as I would like to think, now home on someone else’s tree.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; tab-stops: 72.75pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;">For the last few years, now that our son and daughter are married and throw themselves into their own Christmas tree experiences, my husband has said, “Let’s not … .” And so we haven’t.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; tab-stops: 72.75pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;">But I’ve got enough memories to cherish for a lifetime: the year he and one of his brothers “trimmed” the base of excess branches and then my father-in-law drilled holes to reinsert them in the trunk so the tree would have a pleasing, balanced shape; the year the tree was so big that it dominated the dining room but was so difficult to keep erect, let alone straight, that they wrapped fish line around the top branches and tacked the ends to the sides of the room; and the year the tree toppled on top of us (daughter and I) as we were holding it so the bottom could be stabilized in the base. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; tab-stops: 72.75pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;">No wonder my husband continues to say each year, “Let’s not …”—unless, of course, he is remembering that I always wanted the tree to be left up until, well, Valentine’s Day, if still holding its needles, when he wanted it down right after New Year’s.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; tab-stops: 72.75pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;">I’m still remembering what it was like to lie on the couch in a dark room with only the Christmas tree lights for illumination.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; tab-stops: 72.75pt;"><br />
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</div>Alice Tessierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06361513951366109015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-252833609343440314.post-19508141282696945792011-09-24T14:41:00.000-07:002011-09-24T14:41:38.713-07:00A Dangerous Run<div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span></span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Oh deer. And pardon the pun. This is not an oh-dear-me tale, but deer play a significant part in it.</span></span></span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">There are few sights more stirring than a deer dashing out of its woodland hideaway and bounding across open space—unless, that is, the open space is the roadway on which we are traveling. That's when grace and danger converge, and unless we can respond quickly to the potential threat to our and the animal's safety, a collision is inevitable.</span></span></span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">I’ve written this in editorials over the many years I’ve been traveling to and from work on heavily wooded roadways through several towns. Just over a week ago, the truth meter reached the extreme limit, when not one but two deer bolted out of a stand of trees and broadsided my car on the passenger side as I was heading home. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">(A Honda Civic’s frame is not an immovable object.) </i></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Over the years, I’ve shared with our readers the following defensive driving tips, courtesy of the Institute for Insurance Information, to avoid hitting a deer. </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";">Drive cautiously during early evening and early morning hours when deer are particularly active, and pay particular note to where they usually run.</span></span></span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">(In my case, it was early evening, around 7:30, when they decided to cross Route 67 in New Milford as I was heading east, downhill toward Dorwin Hill Road. I’ve never seen deer in this stretch, though I know where they are likely to be spotted farther along and well into Bridgewater and Roxbury.)</span></span></span></i></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";">Use high-beam headlights, which reflect the deer's eyes, to see an animal in the roadway, especially at dusk and in the early evening.</span></span></span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";">Slow down and blow your horn with one long blast to frighten the deer away.</span></span></span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";">Look for other deer after one has crossed the road. Deer seldom run alone. They have also been known to cross over and then back again.</span></span></span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";">Brake firmly when you notice a deer in or near your path. Do not swerve, which can confuse the deer as to where to run and can also cause you to lose control of your vehicle.</span></span></span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";">If you cannot avoid hitting the deer, it is better to hit it head-on. Brake until just before the point of impact, then raise the hood to prevent the animal from flying onto the windshield.</span></span></span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";">If you hit a deer, don't touch it. If it is alive, it could be dangerous. Call state or local police immediately.</span></span></span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif";"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">(The NMPD officer who responded to the scene and I went looking for my two “assailants” after the incident, but we couldn’t find them. He told me that deer are a lot stronger and sturdier than their graceful form would suggest and that they probably ran off after being stunned by the impact of butting the car.) </span></span></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div>Alice Tessierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06361513951366109015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-252833609343440314.post-32295141774269395972011-08-02T13:51:00.000-07:002011-08-11T16:28:00.121-07:00Table for One, Please<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span></div><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Preach not to others what they should eat, but eat as becomes you, and be silent. </span></i><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">—Epictetus</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">The above quote by a Greek sage and philosopher of the first century AD, remembered throughout recorded history as espousing that fate determines external events but individuals are responsible for their own actions, drew my interest not for his “thou shall not preach” admonishment but “eat as becomes you, and be silent.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Eating as becomes one’s self is, of course, easiest when alone—and that’s where the “be silent” holds true, too.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">But although I found myself on the way home from work last Thursday night turning into the driveway of an area restaurant I wanted to visit, I don’t necessarily want to keep quiet about it.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">It’s easy to go out to eat alone for breakfast, brunch or lunch—with a book or newspaper for company in this aloneness if preoccupation with food or one’s thoughts is not enough for comfort. Dinner is another story altogether. Parties—of two, three, four, six, eight, you know…—dine out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">A party of one becomes a matter of me, myself and I.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Well, I did a rough check of the parking lot at a New Preston eatery and it seemed to me there was room for one more car, so I aimed to give myself a treat.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">“Can you seat one?” I asked the maitre d’, as the dining areas seemed quite full, even shortly after 6 o’clock.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">“Of course. This is the Community table,” he said, referring to one of Litchfield County newest eating establishments, Community table at 223 Litchfield Turnpike.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">And he proceeded to seat me at the spot with the selfsame name—in the center of a long table crafted from a 300-year-old black walnut tree that had grown on the property.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Two couples had dug into their appetizers, and conversation, at my left, and a party of four was poring over the menu at my right as I was seated dead center, with an empty chair in front of me.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Well, I had a book with me (and had turned off my cell phone before entering). …</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">As it turned out, I didn’t miss using either of them.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">It took me less time to absorb the ambience—stylishly spare, bright and airy—than to peruse the purposefully pared-down menu.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">“So, what did I have?” I asked my husband when I got home later that evening.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Beets and fish,” he figured, guessing correctly, but as dessert never interests him, he quit after mulling the appetizer and entrée selections.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Beets & Berries set the tone of the meal from the outset. Beets, raspberries, blackberries, currants, candied pecans, fennel, blue cheese, blueberry citrus vinaigrette. Yum yum yum. Like having “afters” before the main course. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Locally sourced ingredients, and even though it would be tempting to attempt to replicate the appetizer in one’s own kitchen, that would be a presumption, so masterfully it was executed under the guidance of executive chef Joel Viehland.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Stonington seared scallops next, as much because I love seafood as the fact that I wanted to sample the greens: fennel puree, kale, seaweed pressed kohlrabi—with lamb pancetta and a drizzle of vinaigrette.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">You know, it was actually enough sustenance—and enough of a culinary experience—to stop there, but when the waitress came by with dessert choices (only two), I told her to pick one for me. She decided on the gooseberry fool rather than the blackberry crumb cake. Did I already say “Yum!”?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">This solo diner did not dine altogether alone, however. Conversation with the couples began with “What did you order?” And when two diners were squeezed into the one spot opposite me—all chairs scooted over to give them room—and proceeded to order one Beets & Berries to share as a starter, all of us other 9 diners looked up. Soon enough, someone said, “You’ll be sorry. You should have ordered two!”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">The food was the star, the camaraderie the garnish (as I expect it always is at Community table, </span><a href="http://www.communitytablect.com/"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">www.communitytablect.com</span></a><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">).</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"></span></span></div><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span>Alice Tessierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06361513951366109015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-252833609343440314.post-76259586233942652912011-07-16T10:08:00.000-07:002011-07-16T10:13:43.570-07:00Family<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’ve been prompted to think about the strong pull of family connection lately, with ever-increasing focus.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">Coming back from a short vacation in Ireland in March, I exchanged small pleasantries with a seatmate, a businessman.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I told him I used to live in his home town of Dublin for several years, attending graduate school and working in book publishing there. He mentioned that there had been a break<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>of some years between his first starting college and his going on to complete a bachelor’s degree and to earn a master’s. After our sharing that the “traditional” college timeline is not so rigorously scripted anymore, I chanced a personal comment, saying, “Your mother must be so proud.” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">After a long pause, he told me, “Well, yes.” And then, “I was adopted twice.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">As it turned out, he had been adopted as an infant by a couple, and when his new father died not long afterward, his new mother gave him up for re-adoption.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was warmly received into a foster home as he awaited the prospect of new parents. About a year later, he was adopted by a childless couple who had been eager to have a family. They went on to adopt a little girl sometime later.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">Fast forward many years, the daughter wanted to find her biological parents. She discovered the identity of her birth mother, who, as it turned out, did not want to meet her daughter. The businessman did not feel the same need to delve into the past, saying he has had a very happy life with the parents who raised him.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">They thought, however, that he might want to research his parentage someday, suggesting that it might be easier sooner rather than later.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His own family agreed and started to find the trail back to his birth.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">What they discovered: not his birth father but the name, profession and even a picture of his birth mother; some communications that suggested she had been reluctant to place him up for adoption; and the location of her grave, as she had died about 20 years earlier.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">There is an annual tradition in Ireland called “Cemetery Sunday,” when people visit family graves and a local clergyman offers a blessing. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">Having discovered his birth mother’s identity, the businessman and his family paid a visit to her grave on Cemetery Sunday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He told me that as he was standing there, an elderly woman approached him, saying, “You’re her son, you look just like her.” I cried at his telling of it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">The second prompt was when Brookfield resident Jan Howard, who writes a regular blog for our newspapers called “Mirrored Images,” shared her story in her most recent entry, “The Never-Ending Story.” (Visit our homepage, and it is just a click away.)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">As she starts her story, “I have always loved history, so it should not come as a surprise to anyone that I eventually became interested in a different type of history than that taught in school. It is the history of my family.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">“Someone once said that only a genealogist regards a step back as progress. It seems as though I was always interested in knowing more about my family. I always wanted to know the “who and they why” of family dynamics. Mostly, I wanted to know about my birth father, who had left my mother and me when I was only 2 years old.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">The third prompt was equally unexpected. When I was recently interviewing Nicholas Ortiz, the valedictorian of New Milford High School’s Class of 2011, I was surprised to learn that he planned to take a year off (a gap year) before heading to Harvard, to major in cognitive neuropsychology.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’m interested in human experience and the brain—how the mind interacts,” he said. “I do like to identify myself and why I do things. From my childhood I have had questions about why people do things.”</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">Unlike the above, Nicholas has had no reason to wonder about his parents. He lives with his in New Milford. But one of the main goals he has set for himself in the upcoming year is “to find long-lost family.” He plans to go to Puerto Rico to find any members of his distant family (his paternal grandparents were born there; his mother’s family is of Italian descent). <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(You can read more about him, too, online—in our archives.)</span><br />
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</div><span style="font-size: large;"></span>Alice Tessierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06361513951366109015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-252833609343440314.post-11630259212044042912011-04-27T18:12:00.000-07:002011-04-27T18:12:15.557-07:00Four-Legged Feelings<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlBTbZc6GYdYH1JO41VbTvU3-RFM36lNxTxrfQVMFKyVLWsAUUaD8NQw9f0-nT8JCuhnj15ghkt72rwgFkNq4e7Rh_jGVHFli9i0M6W0xPv5MKhfL7kOVSSJpM_Tq0t1FioPO0LRQPpzs/s1600/Transit+pix+002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"></div><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 115%;">At home, I’ve been trying to be very tuned in to the slightest changes in manner and movement of our beloved Abbey, a 14-1/2 lb, 15-1/2-year-old llasa-schnauzer mix. She has been losing her sight and hearing, and her gait is a bit cross-footed and wobbly at times. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 115%;">Indoors, she sleeps a lot, preferring the confines of her old carrying case for a deep, dark silence or a plump sheepskin pillow right underneath the TV in the living room, which is hardly a quiet spot.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 115%;">The only time we hear from her, not that she was ever a noisy pet, is a mew-like sound when she wa</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 115%;">nts water or food or does her business on a puppy pad.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1NWoYGghXO9JsorH3lFTgV_r7FLhfzM2nGf9oJaJNegSR0IAj_iMXQ9dBTV1FOdDlMjxgyfvPf4vFHjnWUVsOkjhjtaDL3I5cdZ23PBQ6X9MuKroskIQ-UQVsq8jNwRe-FHQhDx2xeU4/s1600/Transit+pix+004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240px" i8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1NWoYGghXO9JsorH3lFTgV_r7FLhfzM2nGf9oJaJNegSR0IAj_iMXQ9dBTV1FOdDlMjxgyfvPf4vFHjnWUVsOkjhjtaDL3I5cdZ23PBQ6X9MuKroskIQ-UQVsq8jNwRe-FHQhDx2xeU4/s320/Transit+pix+004.jpg" width="320px" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 115%;">Outdoors, she has more oomph, for want of a better word. On a long lead toward the front of the house, she wanders round and about, never seeming to tire enough to sit or lie down, though my husband has seen her do so. And a week ago, at a local dog park that has a “quiet area”—what a blessing!—she went round and about on the loose, never touching the fence on all sides or resting.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 115%;">In the car, she rides in a plump, ribbed cat bed, which does more that cushion her ride—it also enables us to roll her up like a hotdog and transport her comfortably in and out of the car.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 115%;">Left alone, but not quite alone, she gets by as she just gets on in age.</span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9xR5PulNDVkGnYBUh4OAvbjok6Mu9IDe-Z_lLgme1CRLU9C0vc29SpeSPtlo9nTW-7yXXGAqVPATnFAZO4pSjXeFD8EX9Svwdt2ZpNnFhyphenhypheneAnII91-smyO8WeoOx_2-ERPDZ-nzMvoOo/s1600/Transit+pix+003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="292px" i8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9xR5PulNDVkGnYBUh4OAvbjok6Mu9IDe-Z_lLgme1CRLU9C0vc29SpeSPtlo9nTW-7yXXGAqVPATnFAZO4pSjXeFD8EX9Svwdt2ZpNnFhyphenhypheneAnII91-smyO8WeoOx_2-ERPDZ-nzMvoOo/s320/Transit+pix+003.jpg" width="320px" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 115%;">I have Abbey on my mind a lot—but not on a recent vacation, when somebody else’s pet made me pay attention and I learned a thing or two. A friend’s family had two 11-year-old boxers, and the week before I arrived, the “sister” died. The “brother” always has soulful eyes, but let us know through his moping around that he felt adrift. </span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiesnrXE3rPbcqXKtgYLOslzuEg0XS2ES9m7ZaFovVFaa4UVpISdPEO90wV_EExuEkZthabDjnDyhSHWs_mJ3Pz1SNC-CNb8-G7J0HhQ6mQg4fURz7NBBTJyRpxWxkpzZ3OJDpP8S5vQDM/s1600/Transit+pix+001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320px" i8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiesnrXE3rPbcqXKtgYLOslzuEg0XS2ES9m7ZaFovVFaa4UVpISdPEO90wV_EExuEkZthabDjnDyhSHWs_mJ3Pz1SNC-CNb8-G7J0HhQ6mQg4fURz7NBBTJyRpxWxkpzZ3OJDpP8S5vQDM/s320/Transit+pix+001.jpg" width="267px" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 115%;">Open the car door, however, and he was quick to move—into the front passenger seat. There’s little moving a fit 85-lb boxer that has no intention to oblige a human parent and no moving the creature for a visitor. Not until the last ride we took together, that is, when I whooshed him with a constant stream of admonishments and nudges to go between the seats and into the back. </span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlBTbZc6GYdYH1JO41VbTvU3-RFM36lNxTxrfQVMFKyVLWsAUUaD8NQw9f0-nT8JCuhnj15ghkt72rwgFkNq4e7Rh_jGVHFli9i0M6W0xPv5MKhfL7kOVSSJpM_Tq0t1FioPO0LRQPpzs/s1600/Transit+pix+002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320px" i8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlBTbZc6GYdYH1JO41VbTvU3-RFM36lNxTxrfQVMFKyVLWsAUUaD8NQw9f0-nT8JCuhnj15ghkt72rwgFkNq4e7Rh_jGVHFli9i0M6W0xPv5MKhfL7kOVSSJpM_Tq0t1FioPO0LRQPpzs/s320/Transit+pix+002.jpg" width="240px" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 115%;">So, I thought afterward, we’ve sort of become friends. I later learned what that really meant. When I was zipping up my wheeled duffle bag to head to the airport for a return flight home, the bag seemed to be a bit lighter than before. Star watched as I puzzled my way through its contents, content on an oriental carpet. Then in the corner of my eye I caught a flash of pink. Cushy indeed was his resting spot—on my anorak, suit jacket and two cashmere sweaters (the rest he left behind).</span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 115%;">So, what did I learn from Abbey and Star? Do things on their terms.</span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
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</div>Alice Tessierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06361513951366109015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-252833609343440314.post-20335576437097480372011-03-29T16:55:00.000-07:002011-03-29T17:26:05.916-07:00Continuing Lessons<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;">There are many reasons for the vacations we take—the kinds and the places. For me, the constants are a good place to sleep and lots of fresh air, in an inspiring landscape. My kids promise that I’ll find that when we take a family vacation at the Cape this summer, and I can’t wait for those aspects and everything else that our time together (all eight of us, spouses and grandkids included) will bring.</span></div></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjnRTG33Om644fwoCB4rAt0YojrqolxevhBWRKUrjmjKB2mMR7yOAMuK8CyMR6_K87azm-YauMFJxCn1LgmlTfGlOqkcbAUr56-JUhewMAuPVCVgQajcJvRmfBpi6zytChiV-Y4pl6tG4/s1600/feb++2011+110.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjnRTG33Om644fwoCB4rAt0YojrqolxevhBWRKUrjmjKB2mMR7yOAMuK8CyMR6_K87azm-YauMFJxCn1LgmlTfGlOqkcbAUr56-JUhewMAuPVCVgQajcJvRmfBpi6zytChiV-Y4pl6tG4/s640/feb++2011+110.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;">In the meantime, however, I took a shorter break but farther away—in Ireland, where I used to live.</span></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;">I booked a room with a view north of Dublin—looking out to the Irish Sea, with Howth Head (memorably visited in James Joyce’s “Ulysses”) off to one side and the islands known as Ireland’s Eye and Lambay, farther north, straight ahead, all just beyond the broad, dune-bordered five-mile strand (Portmarnock beach) edging the water.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;">Decades ago, when my husband and I lived in Dublin, I loved this stretch of seacoast, which was the site of some early aviation experiences (including the touch-off point for the first solo east to west crossing of the Atlantic Ocean, in 1932, by James Mollison), and its appeal still holds. Easy access to the beach is from the grounds of the old Jameson (of whiskey fame) estate—house and grounds are now the core of the Portmarnock Hotel and Country Club, voted in 2009 the top course in the country.</span></div></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;">My dad, who was an avid golfer, taught me many things in life, including how to play golf, but I only got hooked on the long walks, not the game itself. “So why stay at a golf course?” my son asked me upon my return. It’s got “everything else,” I told him. </span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp9LORzsdldKS-Go1qBpWq0Pig7DQz3ltK6Ida2kwbtKuc0j-4rm98cCAxEzeIdIovGrMnlfv4ucThrnbN4VF1E_w87xMucdnLTG_N9X_0r6znoTk8XV0By7p6diertNcWJ91t763EEF0/s1600/Copy+of+feb++2011+046.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp9LORzsdldKS-Go1qBpWq0Pig7DQz3ltK6Ida2kwbtKuc0j-4rm98cCAxEzeIdIovGrMnlfv4ucThrnbN4VF1E_w87xMucdnLTG_N9X_0r6znoTk8XV0By7p6diertNcWJ91t763EEF0/s640/Copy+of+feb++2011+046.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;">I didn’t even unpack before heading out along the dunes and onto the strand. I set out under the mid-afternoon sun and swept by wind and shower, and when the clouds burst I knew there would be a rainbow.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5IHeJXnvW-SIn0hyphenhyphenapEVEwOifuMIGIg6tarBi3vDMa409lbeO0eQKrVL3Pf22Ouce5POa_JItn8pg4qFrstmjkmmxbrZkv1yKRHYuMIQ3YEb07IDX5SLYjWPuyBF3SqbegBJ25VRZbBQ/s1600/feb++2011+097.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5IHeJXnvW-SIn0hyphenhyphenapEVEwOifuMIGIg6tarBi3vDMa409lbeO0eQKrVL3Pf22Ouce5POa_JItn8pg4qFrstmjkmmxbrZkv1yKRHYuMIQ3YEb07IDX5SLYjWPuyBF3SqbegBJ25VRZbBQ/s640/feb++2011+097.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuf9juaIYFPIUgH006tIuQGXBCh4yULzmsou_dqtFjYIAp-BQNAf7XGenV3NDOjtv0OuHYqKPQu384VFCiQM19IRjxrBEuUQHf82fktypTzcl1evz_UI_GXVauIk3JoR7MY-9PKTANSAA/s1600/feb++2011+091.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuf9juaIYFPIUgH006tIuQGXBCh4yULzmsou_dqtFjYIAp-BQNAf7XGenV3NDOjtv0OuHYqKPQu384VFCiQM19IRjxrBEuUQHf82fktypTzcl1evz_UI_GXVauIk3JoR7MY-9PKTANSAA/s200/feb++2011+091.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;">Over the next few days, I headed north, to Carlingford, just shy of the border of Northern Ireland—for oysters, which are farmed in Carlingford Lough (above). It’s what the town is known for, other than its three castles (one below). <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuKSIJ25Uphv6FbDHBuWns60NTD-EHxnyD0lE56_5y7ta9HAmveo5W-_1oiRTCTYSHDiPISWSTZxyT6bnSj2ueviDpBvPQmz2uUnQufwhIWm9ROMI9H6O6CanTeTCtyF5UdCgP0xcs5_w/s1600/feb++2011+100.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuKSIJ25Uphv6FbDHBuWns60NTD-EHxnyD0lE56_5y7ta9HAmveo5W-_1oiRTCTYSHDiPISWSTZxyT6bnSj2ueviDpBvPQmz2uUnQufwhIWm9ROMI9H6O6CanTeTCtyF5UdCgP0xcs5_w/s400/feb++2011+100.jpg" width="400" /></a>I’m a recent convert to the slippery mollusks, and The Carlingford Oyster Company says to chew them, rather than just swallow them whole—how else would you know what they taste like!</span></div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifkHijwbkRl75z2Jb9Dezry_ugj4lrVxoLdr2HuODprJ6PbfY2Dff-lldOAIfqLbmR5rV0S5i8YSsgUOn2Jx_clVI6RlTVAy5YSy7ysYYL3dQJnaM46f2SGDg_kNReOs7-AGqpUQxvrBI/s1600/feb++2011+084.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifkHijwbkRl75z2Jb9Dezry_ugj4lrVxoLdr2HuODprJ6PbfY2Dff-lldOAIfqLbmR5rV0S5i8YSsgUOn2Jx_clVI6RlTVAy5YSy7ysYYL3dQJnaM46f2SGDg_kNReOs7-AGqpUQxvrBI/s640/feb++2011+084.jpg" width="640" /></a></div></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvqtsP5M_ppJBXUwTTTRp0-Sy-KIdA9J648oVhtELtKJUXt7aijPIE0BMk6hexpdbXvwduhZTdzHG93zEixXgIeLTk7caR4IbPwZ_UCncNyLsaYQUdogojfCgueMj5Lcz1osiPpeWkYrE/s1600/feb++2011+087.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="221" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvqtsP5M_ppJBXUwTTTRp0-Sy-KIdA9J648oVhtELtKJUXt7aijPIE0BMk6hexpdbXvwduhZTdzHG93zEixXgIeLTk7caR4IbPwZ_UCncNyLsaYQUdogojfCgueMj5Lcz1osiPpeWkYrE/s320/feb++2011+087.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;">Another time I crossed the Boyne Bridge over the Boyne River (above) and into the Boyne Valley (with a long-distance a nod to New Milford’s new police chief, Shawn Boyne) to see again what is said to be Ireland’s most important prehistoric site—Newgrange, a Neolithic era megalithic passage grave that is older than the pyramids of Egypt and the Stonehenge circle in England. When we were living in Ireland, my mother paid us a visit—“to see how you’re living”—and I took her there, expecting her to be impressed. “That’s a tomb, isn’t it?” she said, and refused to go in. A UNESCO world heritage site, it was surely worth a return visit, and the pelting rain (notice the raindrops dripping from the fence post) was a boon, seeming to deter hordes of visitors and to blur the distraction of an appealing landscape.</span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8MNCUY6IIgiCzApnWYRbs7ZROpfXTNwMiVXNdopHAtnXbC92KjcbLbc0PCyM4K1-pf0DpXwYcMU3VTepu-ZfIzLs0AhQTs_6r86F5BYZde8KLOXgrw0FGMs_lcmUtQNiXWHhVTcG91U4/s1600/feb++2011+076.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="416" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8MNCUY6IIgiCzApnWYRbs7ZROpfXTNwMiVXNdopHAtnXbC92KjcbLbc0PCyM4K1-pf0DpXwYcMU3VTepu-ZfIzLs0AhQTs_6r86F5BYZde8KLOXgrw0FGMs_lcmUtQNiXWHhVTcG91U4/s640/feb++2011+076.jpg" width="640" /></a></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPzgPZuHhmaQMfQ18czh9R4CYVbpkV3dZYpMoAWAGjk1kBreXb4a1WdwydUSiDxCRciPJoG16B7JQyFxNBS7Sdj6n-y9dU-H_c1of43E5cEQ1LmanxH4BsEASySxdkImGaoZMiMLVQ46s/s1600/feb++2011+079.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPzgPZuHhmaQMfQ18czh9R4CYVbpkV3dZYpMoAWAGjk1kBreXb4a1WdwydUSiDxCRciPJoG16B7JQyFxNBS7Sdj6n-y9dU-H_c1of43E5cEQ1LmanxH4BsEASySxdkImGaoZMiMLVQ46s/s400/feb++2011+079.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;">Afterward, thanks to an obliging driver, I headed south to another site of some historical significance—the County Kildare farm where 18<sup>th</sup>-century patriot Wolfe Tone was said to have lived, hiding out from the country’s British oppressors. Once his uncle’s place, it now belongs to friends of mine, who cherish the land. </span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;">As I do, cherishing both dear friends gone and present and the country that is theirs. I have to inhale it—anywhere, but most especially in the west, and the wilder spot the better.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;">I originally went to Ireland, drawn by its literature, to pursue a postgraduate degree in Anglo-Irish studies (a nine-month plan that ended up being a nearly four-year sojourn, with further postgrad studies and also getting a toehold in the book publishing industry). The country soon became a bigger university, making me see things afresh, or differently, and bring the lessons back home. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;">The weekend before I went on vacation, I interviewed David Monagan, an American author (most recently, of “Ireland Unhinged: Encounters with a Wildly Changing Country”), who moved with his family from the Northwest Corner here in Connecticut and laid new roots in the south of Ireland. As it turns out, we had been kicking around Dublin at the same time as students. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;">As we got to talking, we shared the experience that once bitten by “whatever” is Ireland, never forgotten, which does not mean caught up in some nostalgic attachment. The reality is more essential.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;">The country arose out of a historically straitened economy to a decade and a half of a seemingly miraculous boom period beginning in the early 1990s, and then the bubble burst.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;">“Unhinged it is,” said Mr. Monagan, adding that “the greedy—banks, developers, private and business investors—like petulant children ruined anything they put their hands on.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;">“The country has known depression and real hardship before,” he said, and when the miracle of its prosperity arrived, its traditional values quickly became adrift. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;">Now, “it can’t afford much of anything,” as he said in the March 11 story that appeared in The Litchfield County Times (also online at <a href="http://www.litchfieldcountytimes.com/">http://www.litchfieldcountytimes.com/</a> and <a href="http://www.housatonictimes.com/">http://www.housatonictimes.com/</a>). “But there is a sense of human and song of life still here,” he said, speaking long-distance from Cork. “I may find that I live out the rest of my life here, and I know it won’t be easy but it will still be rewarding in many ways.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;">Mr. Monagan went forward, as I do, to meet Ireland on its own terms. And how I do agree with him, as he said in the last words of his new book: “What one loves about Ireland is that it talks as readily as it breathes.” </span></div>Alice Tessierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06361513951366109015noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-252833609343440314.post-65577130720930649492011-03-03T16:20:00.000-08:002011-03-03T16:26:55.990-08:00Two Scents’ Worth<div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji90T2mtJZdd-hDshe45t7e0biZtoK0tQDKlZQGqTk1XQnFTyDf3NGcf8yKniaCQvcBNuHG_XFhOStCLmx9h0-UNZBRoWEX9VhLmUEIVGZGjWl8OSFIAP-61ZsPiqToEMQWL4fVqhkZM4/s1600/DSCF0160.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="200" l6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji90T2mtJZdd-hDshe45t7e0biZtoK0tQDKlZQGqTk1XQnFTyDf3NGcf8yKniaCQvcBNuHG_XFhOStCLmx9h0-UNZBRoWEX9VhLmUEIVGZGjWl8OSFIAP-61ZsPiqToEMQWL4fVqhkZM4/s200/DSCF0160.JPG" width="176" /></span></a><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">It’s a pleasure to introduce Brookfield resident Sue Kelley’s Two Scents, on behalf of the Animal Welfare Society (AWS) of New Milford, to our growing family of community bloggers.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Sue, a board member and longtime volunteer, wanted to get the word out about what this wonderful not-for-profit organization does, share its stories and let the communities it serves know of its needs. What she pitched as an idea for an occasional column became a regular spot for AWS on the Web sites of The Housatonic Times and The Litchfield County Times.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">In her initial entry, she talked about the Valentine’s Cat Open House, an annual event she holds dear. Her new one describes the “happy dance” that pet owners may already know and love and, frankly, others are missing!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">As readers of my blog know, I’m one of the former. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Care and be cared for—sometimes the balance in life is just right.</span></div>Alice Tessierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06361513951366109015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-252833609343440314.post-5016873145966196532011-03-03T07:29:00.001-08:002011-03-03T07:29:44.741-08:00Vegan-ish<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;">A few weeks ago, my daughter asked me to go along with her to a few health-food and regular grocery stores as she and her husband wanted to eat “vegan”—nothing from an animal or fish—for a week.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;">They had been talking about the benefits of a “cleanse,” ridding the body of toxins, but she was concerned about her hubby’s eating “enough” so they decided to try it the vegan way. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;">A recent program on the “Oprah” show and the longevity of veteran fitness guru Jack Lalanne, who was known for promoting healthy eating for many decades and had recently died at age 96, sparked their resolve.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;">Shopping, in three towns, took hours, as we read label after food label and kept reminding ourselves, and each other, about what the healthy food pyramid is regarding daily consumption of proteins, carbohydrates, fruits and veggies, etc.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;">I found myself interested not so much in eating vegan but eating mindfully for a week.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;">They dug in to a meal that Sunday evening, after my daughter cooked “something with quinoa,” she said, that “tasted just great.” By Thursday, however, they had each capitulated a bit.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;">“Still vegan?” I asked my son-in-law the following evening, as they put a cheese and pepperoni pizza in front of me, along with a salad, and then a nice bakery’s red velvet cake with cream cheese frosting as my birthday treat. “-Ish,” he replied, adding that it was “good to be both.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;">Well, that was some special treat day for me. It all began when a friend took me out to breakfast in a favorite little restaurant in a town on my way to work. There was nothing on the breakfast menu (all that was being offered) that was vegan except for a promising “granola with fresh fruit and yogurt.” But the yogurt was a dairy product, and the little eatery did not have any dairy substitutes for either yogurt or milk. (What would someone with a lactose intolerance do, I wondered, as I tried to build a breakfast while sticking to the vegan way?)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;">I ended up crunching my way through a bowl of dry granola with fresh fruit, with an orange juice chaser, and followed it up with a cup of black coffee. ’Tweren’t bad. Crunched a lot and let my breakfast companion do all the talking! Afterward, I remembered that nutritionists recommend chewing one’s food thoroughly and eating smaller portions as two weight-losing, or sensible-eating, tips. It certainly wasn’t easy to eat faster, and who would want more!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;">My workplace friends, however, made my day when they gave me two dark chocolate, (something white) frosted, vegan cupcakes from a local bakery as a birthday treat. Yum, all the way to the last crumb. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;">Since then (now it’s about three weeks later), I’ve found that “ish” is serving me well. I’ve lost my cravings for just about everything—including “buttered” (such as it is) popcorn at the movies and a cup of ice cream after a late night at work. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;">But I’ve also developed a real delight in some things I never would have paid that much attention to before. Like olives. One bite, and what a huge explosion of savory juiciness! </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;">I’m now game for miso and exploring “sea vegetable” possibilities, like seaweed and arame, dulce, nori, kombu and wakame.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;">Can’t say the same for packaged veggie burgers, but maybe if I made them from scratch from a choice selection of mushrooms and … .</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div>Alice Tessierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06361513951366109015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-252833609343440314.post-24841837764264734672011-02-10T16:04:00.000-08:002011-03-03T16:37:14.465-08:00Let Me Introduce You ...<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyJ9YZtgRj5cN5mXtSn8Id2DxZfJiWh5o51CC8ehpSPmH8Hq3eHDtFKkk49yDf-LLf1OnnDaT-ELYGMe3y_PO4YmpBACvOWGV_g73TIduBPXKmnbNydOoX3V0ykqmQqJn3_okoZM_Ju9Y/s1600/Jan+01+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; height: 268px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; width: 213px;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" h5="true" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyJ9YZtgRj5cN5mXtSn8Id2DxZfJiWh5o51CC8ehpSPmH8Hq3eHDtFKkk49yDf-LLf1OnnDaT-ELYGMe3y_PO4YmpBACvOWGV_g73TIduBPXKmnbNydOoX3V0ykqmQqJn3_okoZM_Ju9Y/s200/Jan+01+copy.jpg" width="132" /></span></a><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">We recently welcomed Jan Howard, a longtime Brookfield resident, civic activist and former editor of The Brookfield Journal, as a community blogger.</span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Her blog, Mirrored Images, echoes her prize-winning column of the same name that ran for years when she headed the newspaper.</span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">I met Jan about 25 years ago when I joined the Housatonic group of papers under earlier ownership, and over the years her measured eye and deep love for her community continued, vital and vibrant.</span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Mirrored Images will take her readers way back when, but not because she's stuck in a time warp. True, Jan loves local history and has a passion for genealogy, but she's a living repository of the notes and details that bring streets and homes and vistas into view again, enriching our perspectives on community.</span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Readers of tales by Phil Camp, the South Kent storyteller, that appear often in Barbara Thorland's "Gaylordsville Notes" column in The Housatonic Times will know just what I mean. You don't have to know who went walking the walk through everyday life to enjoy their experiences and encounters.</span></div><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">In today's, her second, blog entry, Jan goes a-walkin' herself. </span>Alice Tessierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06361513951366109015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-252833609343440314.post-44425202956385196962011-01-28T11:56:00.000-08:002011-03-03T16:27:36.760-08:00Cooks for a Cause<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Was there ever a community without someone—a lot of ones!—doing the cooking? Of course not, but Brookfield, as others have done in the past, has put a sampling of local culinary favorites between covers to profitable use.</span></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil5RSdcx9iXaCP0snmr4S6ITqUO1LHEbYIRjgdltmHLDwGTgPZjF6B7BfkftvxchSNYMG6tURDG2ny4BByDbDBWxaJL1hjiPl0I_ASq94U_A92oL7wT0RizpavvIprVgdtYR36H3Cg_UM/s1600/cookbook.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="200" s5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil5RSdcx9iXaCP0snmr4S6ITqUO1LHEbYIRjgdltmHLDwGTgPZjF6B7BfkftvxchSNYMG6tURDG2ny4BByDbDBWxaJL1hjiPl0I_ASq94U_A92oL7wT0RizpavvIprVgdtYR36H3Cg_UM/s200/cookbook.jpg" width="141" /></span></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">“Brookfield Cooks!” is a cookbook of both range and mission. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">First its mission: It’s a fund-raising effort undertaken by The Brookfield Library Foundation to raise money toward getting a new—bigger and better—library for the town. As townspeople have knows for decades, Brookfield certainly needs it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">The Brookfield Library is a busy place, continually adding to its stock and enhancing its programming for the community even though its facility is bursting at the seams.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">The library, which is governed by a Board of Trustees, was built in 1973, and over the last two decades its governing board has been hoping to expand and looking for ways to make it possible.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">“We have just under 10,000 square feet, and, according to the state library, given our population, we should have 25,000 square feet,” Anita Barney, its executive director, has said. “We can’t go up because the building won’t withstand it. … [and] although we own an adjacent piece of property, we can’t build there, two architects told us. There’s too much ledge there so there wouldn’t be enough parking space and the sight lines on the road would be poor.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">The site being eyed in on Pocono Road on the property where the Brookfield Municipal Center and Senior Center are located. Which, when one comes to think of it, makes sense since the library offers a variety of programs—for children, teens and adults—and makes its community room available for private functions.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">The foundation has been accepting donations for a few years, but an inspired, attention-grabbing push was made last year, when a decision was made to create a cookbook, with contributions from the community at large.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">“Most of us have heard that the kitchen is the heart of the home,” writes Elena Goletz, the chairman of the trustees, in a prefatory note. “It is the place where we gather to break bread and share our experiences. When families and friends gather, the kitchen is the magnet that brings us together. Our library is a magnet that brings Brookfield residents together to enjoy the myriad of activities that are offered at our library,” which she hopes “will continue to be the heart our little New England town.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Ms. Barney quotes Henry Ward Beecher, who wrote in 1870 that “A little library, growing larger every year, is an honorable part of a man’s history,” and adds her own note, that “every great town deserves a great library.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">So, what’s between the firm covers of the spiral-bound cookbook on its glossy pages, organized by category and followed by useful cooking and pantry tips? A range of recipes, and even though chicken is a recurring ingredient, there’s always a new way to prepare it. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">I’ve been collecting favorite recipes from family and friends since my teen-age years and have a large selection of cookbooks. But I look at the cookbooks as compilations of mini-stories, so it’s no wonder that once I found an interesting “note” appended to a recipe in “Brookfield Cooks!” I flipped through the pages to read all of them!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">It won’t give away the surprises altogether to mention here that included with cherished family recipes, variations on old favorites and tasty enticements for picky eaters are the recipe that was the Blue Ribbon winner of The Brookfield Journal recipe contest in 1987, when the judging was held at The Silo in New Milford; the “everyday” bread of an old farm on Whisconier Hill; and the dish served at victory dinners for the Brookfield High School soccer players in 1988.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">To pick up a copy of the cookbook, which costs $20, visit or contact the library. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">It’s a good read, a welcome source of inspiration these cold days when we’re all more housebound, and is sure to spark some new camaraderie as well as support a truly worthwhile cause. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Bon appetit! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></i></div>Alice Tessierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06361513951366109015noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-252833609343440314.post-11658443873148485182011-01-09T11:50:00.001-08:002011-03-03T16:26:22.428-08:00Free, and Freeing<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">It’s too soon to say whether winter will drag on, and on, and on, but we’ve already had occasions for fun, indoors and out—and all for free.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmpi1U6q81joE-i6df4k23y4djKHy7X3tSRAn4lxV6ZEttK1haPRWzRvdTZXqkrF5e3tKf9bcqRqrd3NZSN5cdO241bNHrpSb8RqITvi1Rn-Ugy0S06JL4DoHZAFNGbOQhiJU8gaM4HIg/s1600/ht-NMsnow-05-wk.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="213" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmpi1U6q81joE-i6df4k23y4djKHy7X3tSRAn4lxV6ZEttK1haPRWzRvdTZXqkrF5e3tKf9bcqRqrd3NZSN5cdO241bNHrpSb8RqITvi1Rn-Ugy0S06JL4DoHZAFNGbOQhiJU8gaM4HIg/s320/ht-NMsnow-05-wk.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">The blizzard of the Christmas holiday weekend dumped heavy snow—the kind that’s great for sledding and building snowmen and snow forts—throughout the area. And you didn’t have to participate to enjoy, just take a walk or a drive and watch life in your town at play. This weekend’s snow was a different kind, thick but fluffier—easier to trudge through, and shovel off lakes and ponds for skating (as this photograph of Candlewood Lake by Walter Kidd, taken Saturday, shows), but not as good for exhilarating sledding. </span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Will there be more to come? It’s probably safe to say that.</span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">The New Milford Public Library offered visitors a treat during the week leading up to Christmas, showing the film “Christmas in Connecticut”—the classic 1945 comedy (not the 1992 remake that Arnold Schwarzenegger directed), with a silly plot line but sparkling delivery and a shimmery winter-scape.</span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">The movie, by the way, was reportedly filmed in Hollywood and the same Connecticut home set that was featured in the 1938 comedy “Bringing Up Baby” was used.</span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="color: black;">You can judge for yourself just how accurately “Connecticut” the set was when the library offers a screening of that movie on Jan. 28 at the senior center at 40 Main St. The movie, </span>a screwball comedy that is a personal favorite (and it’s a toss-up who is funnier, Katharine Hepburn or Cary Grant?), will kick off a mini classic comedy film series that will include “The Philadephia Story,”.on Feb. 25; and “Harvey,” on March 25. The films are free, but registration is requested; call 860-355-6075.</span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">In case you may be wondering how well comedy translates, the library will be showing a modern Chinese comedy, the 1999 film “Shower,” on Jan. 10 at 2 p.m. The movie, which is in Mandarin Chinese with English subtitles and is rated PG-13, garnered many film awards.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">For more free screen entertainment possibilities, check the weekly calendar in this paper and on its Web site or contact your local library.</span></div>Alice Tessierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06361513951366109015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-252833609343440314.post-56444010963930974852010-12-14T12:40:00.000-08:002011-03-03T16:28:07.234-08:00Seeds of Promise<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">As snowflakes fall on our towns and days and nights alike are cold and dreary, perfect pick-me-ups get delivered to our mailboxes. Of course there are the holiday greetings, the cards and notes that offer good wishes for the season and the new year and, sometimes, updates on the “news” from distant family and friends. But frequently wrapped around a bundle of cards, and bills, are plant and seed catalogues, which offer other new promises for the upcoming year.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">In our family, my husband is the gardener, although I’m a dab hand at pruning (hmnn, editor=pruner) and at arranging cut flowers and greens. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Last year, he was inspired to grow potatoes, under mounds of straw, and watched that patch of his garden more than his usual vegetable plantings. Something was definitely happening under all that straw, and as it turned out he wasn’t the only one watching the sprouted eye sections take root and form new growth. We never saw what reaped the rewards of his attention, but something(s) enjoyed his efforts.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">This year, who knows what will catch his interest, but the catalogues are moving around the house, from kitchen to dining room to study, wherever he is reading at the moment.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">An announcement to go into the paper from the Brookfield Lions brought the subject to mind. The Lions Club is currently accepting renewal and new applications for its Community Garden, a major project it sponsors that is located at the Gurski Farm on Route 133. The success of this venture markedly increases from year to year, with the available plots being snatched up and a waiting list swelling. As a result, there will be 70 individual garden plots for the 2011 season, which will be awarded on a first-come, first-served basis. For more information, and an application, visit online at </span><a href="http://www.brookfieldctlions.org/"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">www.brookfieldctlions.org</span></a><span style="color: black; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"> or call Dave Keefe at 203-775-3876 or Dick Cronin at 203-512-1881.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Mr. Cronin has been providing the updates each year, and he also shares how the garden came to be. The community project was the brainchild of Mr. Keefe, who recognized its broad potential, particularly since gardening attracts people from many different backgrounds and ages.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">The stamp of approval came from all the necessary municipal boards and commissions, and then the club members got digging. Not only did they cultivate the land that would be planted (initially, 35 plots—some of the them suitable for “organic” gardening), construct a tool shed and establish a water source, but they also developed the administrative procedures that would be necessary for efficient management and sought donations from area businesses and experienced help, particularly an on-site monitor.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">The Gurski Farm is a prime location. The town-owned property was once home to a dairy farm and was also used for growing crows as well as tobacco (way back when).</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">For those who have been making their own seasonal imprint on the land, it’s a reward for patience, perspiration and hope. For those who want a plot of their own to work, it has the potential to inspire.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Another Brookfield project is nudging me to take action. On my New Year’s resolution list is to follow Master Gardener Lorraine Ballato’s advice on how to get great results easily from container gardening. The Brookfield resident’s book “Successful Self-Watering Containers: Converting Your Favorite Container to a Self-Waterer” (available on Amazon.com, or just ask her where else) is the fruit of her ambition one dreary winter season past. </span></div>Alice Tessierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06361513951366109015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-252833609343440314.post-75962870257134576142010-12-06T11:03:00.000-08:002011-03-03T16:28:49.715-08:00Following the Flakes<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><i><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';">“Don't knock the weather. If it didn't change once in a while, nine out of ten people couldn't start a conversation.”</span></i><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">The late, great Will Rogers, the popularly beloved cowboy humorist-philosopher several generations back, remains eminently quotable today, but he didn’t make this pithy observation. The one who nailed this social ice-breaker (pardon the pun) was the man Rogers reportedly called “America’s greatest humorist,” Frank McKinney (“Kin”) Hubbard, a cartoonist, journalist and, yes, humorist.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">How right was Kin? Think back to how your day started today and judge for yourself!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Coming into work this morning, I bypassed the Morris-Washington route for a Woodbury-Roxbury-Bridgewater run after Channel 3 reported 4 inches of snow in Washington. Who knew in my hometown (Watertown), but those in the Region 12 school district towns did as school openings were delayed.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Online this week is Max Wittstein’s story on just that topic: School districts’ ongoing dilemma of when to call in a closing or delay (see "Weather -- Whether ..." in the "Community" section).</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">The Public Works (or Highway) Department in area towns has a big challenge, too: When and where to get the trucks rolling.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Mike Zarba, New Milford’s PW director, took a few minutes from his busy morning to share what “typically” and not so typically takes place in the largest town in the state in terms of land area (approximately 62 square miles).</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Here’s what I learned.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Yes, “We had all crews out early this morning,” Mr. Zarba said.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Yes, Washington may have had 4 inches of snowfall, but the “heights” on the eastern side of New Milford did too—“some 3 to 4 inches,” he said, which is both typical and not.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">“Typically, there’s more precipitation there—Ridge Road area, Dorwin Hill, Second Hill, even Hickok Cross roads—because it’s higher,” the PW director said.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Not so typically, he added, “”We don’t get a lot of residual lake storm effect, coming from the north and heading almost southeast,” referring to the weather pattern that came in early today in from the Great Lakes—the band slicing across states shown on TV.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">“Typically, the storms come from the west or southwest,” Mr. Zarba said.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Where the “weather” is generally expected to hit, when heavy conditions are forecast, are other high points—Long Mountain and Merryall areas, Geiger Road and “off [Route] 37,” up where he lives. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Today’s early morning snowfall was, for most people in the area, the first of the coldest season, but I spied big flakes hitting my windshield driving home from New Milford late last Wednesday night. Where? Up Route 317 from the crest of the hill above Maple Bank Farm toward the Roxbury-Woodbury town line, by the airplane hangar.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">“Yep, it’s always there,” when the weather hits, confirmed Roxbury First Selectman Barbara Henry. “But we had it all over today, and our crews were out early, at 4, putting magic salt on the roads.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">“This is just the beginning,” said the Mallory Road resident, who shared that she usually “sees a lot” in her neck of the woods.</span></div>Alice Tessierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06361513951366109015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-252833609343440314.post-89806088392635677162010-12-01T13:02:00.001-08:002011-03-03T16:30:15.309-08:00Averting Tragedy<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">The death of a “hero” dog named Target last month drew a lot of public attention, ranging from head-shaking to anger. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Target, who was one of several dogs who foiled a suicide bomber’s attack on an American military barracks in Afghanistan, was enjoying a peaceful life in Arizona with the family of an Army medic who had adopted her. But she escaped from the family’s yard on a Friday and was dead by Monday morning, reportedly euthanized by mistake by an employee at the animal shelter where she had been taken. The employee picked the wrong dog to be put to sleep—it was a mistake, a spokesperson for the facility reportedly said. Although Target was not wearing a license, her owner reportedly saw her photo online Friday and paid the recovery fee electronically, thinking that the facility was closed for the weekend. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Given the widespread outrage following the national media coverage of the incident, this seems like an opportune time to remind dog owners to make sure their pets wear a license tag and, even better, a microchip to aid in their being reunited following an unwanted separation. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Here’s what happens when stray dogs are found in our area and taken to the local pound in New Milford. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">If an animal is wearing a license, the dog owner will be contacted, according to Brett Brissett, an assistant to the animal control officer. If not, an advertisement will appear for a day in the area daily newspaper (The News-Times) with a description of the animal and where it was found. If no one comes to claim it after seven days, it will likely go to the Animal Welfare Society, a no-kill organization that serves the towns of Bridgewater, Brookfield, New Milford, Roxbury and Washington. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Only under some particular circumstances, such as “quarantine” or a “dire emergency,” for example, are cats are taken in at the pound, she said.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">An animal is “generally not” put down after being taken to the pound, unless it is “very aggressive” and “cannot be trained out of it,” she said. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">The local pound does not do adoptions, but Animal Welfare remains committed to aid the homeless dogs and cats—through adoptions, foster care and even a continuing home under its own roof for those that cannot be placed.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">In its November newsletter, Animal Welfare noted that for the first time in its history it had more than 100 cats, after 52 were found overrunning a home in the area. And 14 Shar Pei dogs came in from another residence. Swelling numbers indeed.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">The staff and volunteers at Animal Welfare do everything they can to address both the ordinary and extraordinary challenges that present themselves. They can’t do it, however, without the help of the communities the organization serves. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">“It costs us more than $25,000 a month to run this shelter,” said Tracy Miltner, the organization’s president, in the newsletter. That care includes veterinary attention as well as the ordinary supplies needed for anyone’s pet. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">There are many ways to help: from donations of money and supplies to a workplace matching donation program to a trust established through estate planning. Volunteers are always welcome, too. In addition, the annual membership fee is modest, just $20. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">To find out more about Animal Welfare Society, visit online at </span><a href="http://www.aws-shelter.or/"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">www.aws-shelter.or</span></a><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">g or call 860-354-1350.</span></div>Alice Tessierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06361513951366109015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-252833609343440314.post-39989945660327454822010-11-16T08:43:00.000-08:002011-03-03T16:31:06.468-08:00Expect Some Confusion<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">By now, drivers who regularly travel down the hill of Route 67 in New Milford toward the Route 202/Grove Street intersection know that someone may end up in the wrong lane at the light. There’s another situation to watch out for.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Yesterday, I noticed a pedestrian walking in the light-colored, stone-scored area between the west and east lanes toward the intersection. It’s a nicely delineated area of considerable length and breadth. The only trouble is, it’s not a sidewalk. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">As part of the major realignment project in that area, new sidewalks have been installed on both sides of the roadway (also known as Prospect Hill Road), from Old Grove Street and down past the spirit shop and lighting store as well as the Water Witch Hose Co. fire house to the intersection. This morning, a “hard-hat” worker was on his cell phone in the similar stone-scored area on the other side of the light, on Bridge Street, but he was apparently on the job.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Mike Zarba, the director of the town’s Public Works Department, said in a recent interview that these flat “islands” separate the two-way traffic lanes. “We could have used the yellow cross-hatching, but this was an option. We thought it looks better there, and it saves money. The yellow lines have to be painted more often.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Speaking of yellow lines, now that night falls earlier and there’s more likelihood of rain in the evening, watch out for drivers heading south on Route 7 from the Stop & Shop Plaza to the bypass in Brookfield who might not know what lane to be in, especially if they want to turn. The yellow cross-hatching areas are not as easily visible. </span></div>Alice Tessierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06361513951366109015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-252833609343440314.post-46038087406981224772010-11-09T14:08:00.000-08:002011-03-03T16:31:49.720-08:00Anything for the Veterans<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">I grew up with a lot of relatives, most of them close by, and the uncles who served during World War II all came back to us, although I did not see them in uniform as I hadn’t arrived on the planet yet. Cousins who served in—or during (as we learned from the state attorney general’s experience, that is a telling distinction)—the Korean War returned as well. All of them had cut dashing figures in uniform, according to the photos in family albums, and they looked healthy. My ears never heard any of their stories, if they were sharing them, and if any of them bore scars, physical or emotional, that was not evident and certainly not a topic. Neither my brother nor my husband was called up to serve during the Vietnam War. Two college friends were, however, and later returned home safely, but we lost touch as they went on to make their life after the war.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">That makes me many steps removed from the challenges and pain so many families have had to deal with, and some still do. But two brief experiences, more than a generation apart, have sunk their hooks in me, or pierced the bubble of naiveté, if you will. I can remember sitting by Lake Quassy in Middlebury one sunny summer afternoon with a former grammar school classmate, who had called to ask to pay a visit. The last time I had seen him was our eighth-grade graduation. Here I was, a recent college graduate who was about to start my first job, teaching high school, and sometime during the eight intervening years he had become a Green Beret. That summer, while the war was beginning to peak in Southeast Asia, he was back home, but briefly. He had signed up for another tour of duty, to fight the wrong of “man’s inhumanity to man,” I’ll always remember him saying, with a few anecdotes to illustrate why. I never heard from him again, but I’m happy not to have found his name on the list of the Connecticut casualties of the Vietnam War. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Fast forward a few decades. A few years back, my son, now in his 30s, introduced me to a friend from Connecticut with a surname I recognized. I knew someone with that name in high school, I told them. It was the young man’s uncle, a Marine who died in South Vietnam less than five months after he entered military service.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Both stick, not so much in memory as in continual suspension, from which they are quickly called to mind. And so when “veteran” is mentioned or is the topic, they pull my chain, sound an alert, from wherever they are in history: Do something for the veterans, for those who have given so much.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">In olden days and other nations, rulers and military leaders promised their troops a place in history if they survived the battles in which they were called to engage. Following the Civil War in this country, the national holiday we know as Memorial Day was proclaimed to honor the memory of Americans who had died in their nation’s service and Veterans Day (originally Armistice Day) was designated to honor those who served in this country’s wars. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Whether those who had served in the armed forces were conscripted or volunteered for military service, they were united in their “striving for freedom with a full knowledge of its price,” to echo the words of a World War II veteran who was interviewed in a feature that aired on the Arts & Entertainment television network some years ago. Families and communities across the nation attest to the truth of another observation, that “Those who are no longer with us are within us.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">America is at war again, this time the War Against Terror, and the ugliness of the conflicts and inhumanity of the brutality continue to be broadcast by the media. Veterans of World War II, who are said to be dying at the rate of 1,500 per day, and those who took part in other wars carry with them vivid service memories, no matter how long ago they had been engaged in military action. They readily attest to the huge, and often to some extent transformational, impact it has had on lives—not only theirs but others who took up arms to fight. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Soldiers and families of members of the armed forces know that there are a lot of “deaths”—or many kinds of serious loss—that those who remain must find some way not only to endure but overcome—disruption of a family’s way of life and emotional security; economic challenges; and psychological, physical health or philosophical uncertainties.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">This Veterans Day, let the holiday serve as a reminder that, first and last, sincere respect is due those who serve to protect the freedom this country enjoys. How to convey that is easy, actually. Show up for them. Stand alongside them at local ceremonies, or listen when they step forward to share some thoughts and experiences, as they do in area classrooms each year during Veterans Week; support their service organizations, like the VFWs, which, as District 5 commander Jim Delancy of New Milford said, are committed to help with “anything for the veterans.” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Here at The Housatonic Times, continuing the tradition of the discontinued New Milford Times and Brookfield Journal, we believe in throwing the spotlight on our area veterans. See Friday’s paper, in print and online, for Brookfield’s “Salute” and several New Milford events that convey our respect.</span></div>Alice Tessierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06361513951366109015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-252833609343440314.post-62716782754932982862010-11-03T11:57:00.000-07:002011-03-03T16:32:55.010-08:00Dogs Do Their Bit for a Good Cause<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Sunday in New Milford, dogs and their owners as well as supporters will be walking for a good cause, to raise awareness of canine cancer.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">The event, called the 2 Million Dogs Puppy Up! walk, is being coordinated by Dawn Osborne of New Milford, whose dog Sunny had to have a leg amputated last year as a result of the dreaded disease. The one-mile walk will coincide with the 2 Million Dogs 2 Mile national event, and it will kick off with registration at 1 o’clock at Young’s Field. Walkers will get moving at 2 and travel along Railroad and Main streets in the downtown area.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><em><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">(For details of the fund-raiser, see staff reporter Scott Benjamin’s story about Puppy Up! online and on Facebook now and in print Friday.)</span></em></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"> Anyone interested in participating should note that the entry fee will be $5 less if paid online by Friday than on the day of the event.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Pet owners know what it’s like to have to deal with a four-legged friend’s health issues, especially as the animal get older. But health problems can materialize at any age. Serious ones are the cause of as much worry for those who share their homes with pets as they are of discomfort and possible pain for the animals themselves. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">And it can be agonizing for an animal lover who wants to do right by an ailing pet but thinks the medical care that might be necessary would not be affordable.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Sometimes, as Renee Gardner, the manager of the Animal Welfare Society of New Milford, confirmed this week, a pet owner decides to just let an ailing animal go.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">“We get a lot of them with medical concerns, and most of them are just dropped off here,” she said. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Mrs. Gardner gave a recent example but pointed out that the owner could not have known of the outcome. “A Lab with a large tumor was left here,” she said, but although the lump was obvious, “when we had surgery done, it turned out to be benign.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Animal Welfare footed the bill for the surgery. The not-for-profit, no-kill organization relies on donations and fund-raisers it conducts during the year to have money for animals’ medical care.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">It’s difficult at any time, Mrs. Gardner acknowledged, to get older animals adopted, but thank goodness some do go to foster homes, she said, such as the “two blind dogs that were dropped off.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">She was glad to hear about the Puppy Up! walk, because it calls attention to the problem of canine cancer but also of animals’ medical issues in general.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Ms. Gardner said the situation, however, was “not new.” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">“It’s been like that throughout my 20 years at Animal Welfare, but it’s gotten worse the last couple of years, especially with the economy,” the New Milford resident said.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Animal Welfare maintains a facility on Pickett District Road.</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGH-1bzd0utNL9thZh3PQxG4-i6Iq37No7eAle6JUJJx_dxR2It2hCVKPTsi1Fv9wNnWMEUmQPrfTOY0YnNj4nx7STZgfVi4uBKm9lmzefHaR9S0zANcLxsyAYq7MqlqLQYUoGBshr2ZQ/s1600/Copy+of+x4-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="320" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGH-1bzd0utNL9thZh3PQxG4-i6Iq37No7eAle6JUJJx_dxR2It2hCVKPTsi1Fv9wNnWMEUmQPrfTOY0YnNj4nx7STZgfVi4uBKm9lmzefHaR9S0zANcLxsyAYq7MqlqLQYUoGBshr2ZQ/s320/Copy+of+x4-2.jpg" width="202" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">(Fifteen years ago, it's where I adopted Abbey, a Lhasa-schnauzer mix who is going blind and getting deafer but still going under her own steam, with a lot of love and attention. I gave the puppy to my daughter, Nicki, for Christmas, and because its date of birth couldn't be determined, we thought they could "share" the same birthday--which is today, Nov. 3! Here we are, with Nicki's beloved Lily, a wheaten terrier.)</span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; tab-stops: 204.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large; mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></div>Alice Tessierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06361513951366109015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-252833609343440314.post-19145778232651437162010-10-29T12:42:00.000-07:002011-03-03T16:33:21.826-08:00Convenience<div class="Default" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span></div><div class="Default" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span></div><div class="Default" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">“Convenience” is one of the big buzzwords about doing things online. Just this week the state Judicial Branch jumped in with a time-saving option: Drivers may pay the fines for motor vehicle and criminal infraction tickets online, according to the office of the chief court administrator. Go to </span><a href="http://www.jud.ct.gov/"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">http://www.jud.ct.gov/</span></a><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">, follow the directions and it’s done. A mail-in option has been in place for years, and it’s still possible to pay up in person.</span></div><div class="Default" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">What you might not know is that making a payment online and by mail is considered a plea of “no contest” (nolo contendere). In this instance, the state doesn’t assess points against the driver’s license. That’s great. </span></div><div class="Default" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Convictions are noted as part of the driver’s history, which is not so great, especially where insurance costs are concerned and the fact that the state may impose sanctions. </span></div><div class="Default" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Of course, drivers may plead not guilty. </span></div><div class="Default" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">To find out more, you can call 860-757-2270 or visit </span><a href="http://www.jud2.ct.gov/cibepay"><span style="font-size: large;">www.jud2.ct.gov/cibepay</span></a><span style="font-size: large;">.</span></span></div><div class="Default" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Now that I’ve passed along this information, frankly I want to forget about it. I’m not up for getting a ticket. I’ve had a few parking tickets in my day, but the one and only speeding ticket I ever got was a stinger (change a letter in that word and you’ll know what I really think of it!).</span></div><div class="Default" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">For nearly a quarter of a century, I’ve been working in New Milford as an editor on the local paper, with the tarmac of five towns under my wheels as I go there and back home, so you can see why traveling is on my mind. A few years ago, heading uphill in third gear on a densely wooded road with no houses in sight, I was clocking in at what I thought was 37 mph in a last-gasp station wagon with nearly 200,000 miles on it. The trooper who pulled me over, after writing a $100+ ticket, said something to the effect that “in the 30s wasn’t 30,” the posted limit. My husband said afterward, “You got what?” But a friend wrested all indignation from my narrative by saying, “Think of all the times you might have gotten a ticket but didn’t.” Enuf said.</span></div><div class="Default" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">When the wagon died and I had to get another car, the thing that made me pick what I’m now driving is the digital speed display on the dash. Big and bold—there’s no missing what it says as I look over the wheel.</span></div><div class="Default" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">It has been a big boon every day that I drive down “chicken hill” (Prospect Hill Road/Route 67) toward the intersection with Route 202 and Grove and Bridge streets, the site of a major improvement project. If you’ve done it once, you know that there’s no anticipating what “road work” might be going on.</span></div><div class="Default" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">But I know who doesn’t like it: the drivers who hate being behind someone who is driving the posted speed limit! </span></div><div class="Default" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">My 42-minute drive to work takes me through several towns in The Housatonic Times’ coverage area, and there’s always something that makes me wonder or raises a smile. Not everything turns out to be a story, but there’s a lot worth mentioning, I’m sure, and this blog seems to be one way to share things of interest. If you want me to see something—by driving by or otherwise taking a look at it—send an e-mail to </span></i><a href="mailto:housatonictimes@ctcentral.com"><i><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">housatonictimes@ctcentral.com</span></i></a><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i> or call my office phone at 860-210-2146, ext. 139.</i> </span></span></div>Alice Tessierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06361513951366109015noreply@blogger.com0