The blog about a dog. The life and times of Mavis Schutte.

 Nine years ago, and change, an amazing thing happened. I was suckered into taking in a dog. The amazing part was, well, that I was tricked. Scratch that. Truth be known, I’m afraid of my wife, so, begrudgingly, I let it happen. Let's face facts. Nothing happens in our home without my wife's say so. (And my tacit approval. My vote is pre-ordained, and merely a formality.)

A year earlier, our beloved, allergy-ridden, dumb-as-a-box-of-rocks, Labrador had passed away. Opus. The canine by which all others would be judged. Opus was our gold standard in the pooch procurement category.

That being said, I was played. By my wife! By a friend! And lastly, by a dog. Her name was Mavis, and she waltzed right in, and stole our hearts. Well, stole Katy’s, maybe. My heart was a stone. I had no reason to take in a dog I hadn’t chosen.

Of course, that was of no concern to anyone but me. I am a good soldier. Did I mention my wife scares me? So, without anymore discussion, it was decided. We were going to foster a dog. My wife should be Speaker of the House! Oh, wait a minute. Technically, she is!

The back story of our ‘foster’ pooch was sad, but true. Abuse. And abandonment. Those two things that should never happen to children, those who cannot defend themselves, and animals. What was done to our soon-to-be-adopted pooch, shouldn’t happen to, well, a dog.

Mavis came under the watchful eye of the good folks at the Copper Country Humane Society when she was found chained to a tree on their property. Mavis, not one to be tied down, promptly escaped and led them on a merry chase up and down US 41, weaving in and out of traffic, daring anyone to catch her.

Several hours later, having burned off enough energy to light Mid-town Manhattan, she finally found her way back to the kennel, allowing herself to be caught. Those trying to catch her, and keep her from causing a pile-up on US 41, may have looked upon that a wee bit differently. Not, I'm sure, what anyone had it mind when they had their first cup of java in the morning, whilst planning their day.

Mavis, I'm sure, felt the same way.

Immediately she switched gears and began to give birth to a small army of adorable puppies, and settled into being a stay-at-kennel mom. She and her brood were transferred to the North Woods Pet Lodge, where they would begin a new life, free of cruelty. Unfortunately, Mavis was as weak as her puppies, and they needed to be weaned early, so mom could regain her strength.

That's where we came into the story.

When our beloved pooch, Opus, was running our lives, he was kennelled at the North Woods Pet Lodge. Yes, the very same kennel. The kennel where Mavis and her pups were shacked up. The owners, Lynn and Darren, shot Katy an email, relaying the situation. She asked if we were interested in either fostering her, or taking the plunge and adopting her. We had mourned Opus for a year. Perhaps it was time.

That thought, by the way, was the argument made for adoption. By one of the few women I believed, wrongly, I could say no to. Then it was reinforced by another woman I can't say no to. Mom. I was outmanoeuvred before I knew I had the right of first refusal. (I've been told many times, for various reasons, that I can always say no. Of course, that's meaningless when my mind has been made up for me!)

After being thoroughly brow-beaten, in the nicest possible way, into accepting the inevitable, we began preparing for the the newest addition to our fur-family. That included buying dog food, preparing an area where she could curl up and sleep, and hopefully, feel safe.

Naturally, the cats would not be informed of our decision until Mavis bounded through the front door, anxious to meet her new sisters. Needless to say, Pinky and Crab E. had the same right of refusal I had. But, in my favour, there was the small amount of joy I would receive after seeing their freaked out expressions, as they tucked tail and ran. I did sleep with one eye open for about a week, but it was worth it!

The day did come, and we picked up Mavis up at North Woods Pet Lodge. Where Lynn, owner, proprietor, and notorious animal lover, was boarding Mavis and her pups. It was there that Mavis would nurse her wee babies (who were no longer 'wee', at this stage of the game), under the watchful eye of Lynn and her small entourage of permanent four-legged homies. This small, but tight-knit group became the closest thing Mavis would have to family, until we arrived.

The adoption went smoothly, even over the loud objection of the cats. Mavis only bolted for the woods behind the house once, that during her her first day home. I'm pretty certain the cats had something to do with that, can't be 100 percent certain though.

And that's how a slightly neurotic, jumpy, paranoid, black lab came to be part of our lives.

For nine years, Mavis was a fixture in our happy home. We always knew when someone was coming down the driveway, or walking along the roadside. When the neighbour girls came to sell pizza kits and Girl Scout cookies to raise money, or come to trick or treat, Mavis stood guard. And barked, and barked and barked. At one point, she was simply known by the kids as "barky" dog. Did I mention she despised the UPS man? Yep, hated him.

Unfortunately, time took it's toll on our big, beloved lab. She was most likely four or five when we took her in. So, by the time she moved on to that big kennel in the sky, she was close to 13 years old, or more! Not bad. Not bad at all. But the time had come to let her go.

And so it came to pass, that Mavis left us.

I was ill-prepared. She not only outlived two cats, she indoctrinated two more into our household before she passed. Critters, large and small, now walk through our yard without impunity, knowing there is no one to challenge them. Cars and people whiz and walk by, without my ever knowing.

The silence is deafening.

Blogger's note: Charlie, one of Mavis' pups, is living a healthy and happy life with the parents of the notorious kennel owner!-js

Farewell, Neil Armstrong 

President Kennedy, in his 1961 inaugural address, announced, "...I believe that this nation should commit itself to achieving the goal, before this decade is out, of landing a man on the moon and returning him safely to the earth."

Even though the original intent was to beat the Russians to the moon, and ascend to the top of the heap in terms of cold war achievements, there is possibly no greater historical moment in U.S. history than July 20, 1969. In one iconic, single step, Neil Armstrong became the quintessential American hero. 

I was all of ten years old. 

To a ten year-old, the space race was pretty heady stuff. Living in the Upper Peninsula, Cape Canaveral (then Cape Kennedy), was a world away. Thank goodness for television and Walter Cronkite. 

My dad, rest his soul, was one of those people that had to have the newest gadget the moment they hit the store shelves, or as soon as economically possible. In July 1969 we gathered in our so-called 'tv room', now a dark-paneled space, graced with an equally dark-finished wooden floor to watch history be made. 

Back then the room was more open and painted in light hues. Entombed within was a beautiful, well-polished, electronic beast. An Admiral Color TV. (Which actually debuted in 1966, but these things don't just pay for themselves, ya know.) 

It was a monster console housing a 25" diagonal color tv tube. With it's walnut veneer, it  was a nut-buster, if not moved by two or more people going no further than a foot at a time. To avoid an unintended medical condition. It was 1960's state-of-the art, with its tuning knobs hidden within the new technological wonder known then as the 'tilt-out control center'.

The stage was set. The lift-off was in beautiful technicolor, the actual landing of the LEM was disappointingly in black and white. Which at the time, no one but me could have cared less about. (I didn't understand the complexities of broadcasting in color. Thankfully, unlike HD, color was free, when available.)

Finally, on July 20, 1969 we watched two Americans jump out of the lunar module and conquer the great 'Man-in-the-Moon'. I was totally in awe. 

For many adults, whether in black and white, or color, the final outcome was assured. Planting the American flag on the moon first was all that mattered. We beat the Russians to the moon. 

Back then our adversaries were more commonly known as the Soviets and/or Russkies/Commies/the red menace. The list goes on and on. Of course with their new-found entrepreneurial skills, we're now asking them for rides into space. At a premium, no less. But I digress.

Being a boy just short of 11 years of age, I didn't share the same definition of success as my elders did. We landed on the moon fer cryin' out loud. How cool was that? And it wasn't made of cheese! Who cares about the Russians? They lived further away from Florida than I did. 

That week in 1969, the nation, including my entire neighborhood, sat spell-bound in front of the tv, waiting for venerated newsman Walter Cronkite, to countdown the lift-off of the Saturn V rocket. Then came the the pairing of the Lunar Module and the Command Service Module. Success. 

Finally, as we all watched breathlessly, the LM descended to the lunar surface. Neil Armstrong, placing one boot on the moon, made the now famous proclamation, "That's one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind".

Those words, and that achievement, have stayed with me since. Unfortunately, the man declaring it, has not. Neil "Buzz" Armstrong has left this earthly plane. He flys now with the angels and saints. His achievement will always be remembered.

Safe travels, Buzz.

Neil 'Buzz' Armstrong, 1969 and Beyond!

President Kennedy, in his 1961 inaugural address, announced, "...I believe that this nation should commit itself to achieving the goal, before this decade is out, of landing a man on the moon and returning him safely to the earth."

Even though the original intent was to beat the Russians to the moon, and ascend to the top of the heap in terms of cold war achievements, there is possibly no greater historical moment in U.S. history than July 20, 1969. In one iconic, single step, Neil Armstrong became the quintessential American hero. 

I was all of ten-years-old.

To a ten-year-old, the space race was pretty heady stuff. Living in the Upper Peninsula, Cape Canaveral (then Cape Kennedy), was a world away. Thank goodness for television and Walter Cronkite.

My dad, rest his soul, was one of those people that had to have the newest gadget the moment they hit the store shelves, or as soon as economically possible. In July 1969 we gathered in our so-called 'tv room', now a dark-paneled space, graced with an equally dark-finished wooden floor to watch history be made.

Back then the room was more open and painted in light hues. Within it was entombed a beautiful, well-polished, electronic beast. An Admiral Color TV. (Which actually debuted in 1966, but these things don't just pay for themselves, ya know.)

It was a monster console housing a 25" diagonal color tv tube. With it's walnut veneer, it  was a nut-buster, if not moved by two or more people. Going no further than a foot at a time avoided an unintended medical condition. It was 1960's state-of-the art, with its tuning knobs hidden within the new technological wonder known then as the 'tilt-out control center'.

The stage was set. The lift-off was in beautiful technicolor. The actual landing of the LEM was disappointingly in black and white. Which at the time, no one but me could have cared less about. (I didn't understand the complexities of broadcasting in color. Thankfully, unlike HD, color was free, where available.)

Finally, on July 20, 1969 we watched two Americans jump out of the lunar module and conquer the great 'Man-in-the-Moon'. I was totally in awe.

For many adults, whether in black and white, or color, the final outcome was assured. Planting the American flag on the moon first was all that mattered. We beat the Russians to the moon.

Back then our adversaries were more commonly known as the Soviets and/or Russkies/Commies/the red menace. The list goes on and on. Of course with their new-found entrepreneurial skills, we're now asking them for rides into space. At a premium, no less. But I digress.

Being a boy just short of 11 years-of-age, I didn't share the same definition of success my elders did. We landed on the moon fer cryin' out loud. How cool was that? And it wasn't made of cheese! Who cared about the Russians? They lived further away from Florida than I did.

That week in 1969, the nation, including my entire neighborhood, sat spell-bound in front of the tv, waiting for venerated newsman Walter Cronkite, to countdown the lift-off of the Saturn V rocket. Then came the the pairing of the Lunar Module and the Command Service Module. Finally, success!

As we all watched breathlessly, the LM descended to the lunar surface. Neil Armstrong, placing one boot on the moon, made the now famous proclamation, "That's one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind".

Those words, and that achievement, have stayed with me since. Unfortunately, the man declaring it, has not. Neil "Buzz" Armstrong has left this earthly plane, just a few short days ago. He flys now with the angels and saints. Here on Earth, as on the moon, his achievement will always be remembered.

Safe travels, Buzz.

The Gun Discussion

So, I guess it’s time to talk about the 800 pound gorilla in the room.

I have been characterized by some as a bleeding heart, flaming leftist liberal. Who knows? But I have discovered something. My thoughts and views about hot-button topics? Well, there's been some movement.

"But Joe", You say. "That can’t be true. You’re so far left, you make the Kennedy’s blush." Well, maybe not that liberal. But I'll give it the old college try.

Here's what I'm getting at.
Has anyone noticed there is very little civilized discourse in the world anymore? There are no real conversations going on. It’s always left against right, pro-this versus anti-that. If one could hear above the screaming, there might be something positive to discuss.

And then there are the tree huggers. But I digress.

Worse yet? While others are screaming, our elected officials, state and national, are not talking to each other.

Why is that?

Simply put, no one wants to give an inch. It’s, "I’m right, and you're not." There can be no middle ground. I see it everyday in politics, religion and who should replace the panel on American Idol.

For example, I was talking at length this weekend with my sister’s husband. Politically, we stand apart. But as we talked we discovered—maybe not so much.

We both have certain expectations of our elected officials. We both want to see this country continue to succeed and continue to be the greatest nation on earth. But we can’t aspire to that lofty perch without being willing to give a little to gain a lot.

Today our state and national politicians are at each other’s throats. One side wants this, and the other wants that. Egging them on are big money lobbyists and PAC’s, political pundits and entire networks. And where there’s money, there’s legislation. Or lack thereof. Oh, and did I mention the ads. They point in the same direction.  There can be no compromise. There will be NO compromise.

And I ask, “Why not?”

Apparently, I am not the only person asking.

Let’s start with guns. Not gun control. Just guns. We have endured another national tragedy in the theatre massacre in Aurora, CO.

The question is asked, “why?” Why do we need AK-47’s and other high velocity weapons? (Be honest, some of you want to stop right here and start howling about the  peacenik, pinko, socialist, with commie leanings, who wants to hand over our freedoms, and then the country, to the first out-of-work dictator with his hand out.)

Read on McDuff.

There are a lot of scared people out there that have never used, or had access to firearms. They aren’t familiar with guns of any kind, and their only real understanding of them comes from the resulting tragedies of Columbine, West Virginia, and now Aurora, CO.

The resulting answer comes from gun enthusiasts who basically go all ballistic on them. Gun-owners fear, rightfully so, that with every nut job that gets together a small armory of high-velocity, assault-style weapons and takes out unarmed, defenseless citizens, they will lose an important and necessary right. The right to bear arms.

I don't think it has to be that way. Nationally, groups such as the NRA, and locally, gun and hunt clubs, need to reach out and educate that part of the population who don’t hunt and don’t understand gun culture. Don’t shove it down their throats. Do it in small steps. Reach out to those willing to listen.

But it is a two-way street. Those who don’t understand have a duty here as well. They need to listen. To be open to understanding what gun ownership is all about. Don’t fear law-abiding gun-owners. They may be the only thing standing between you and surviving the next massacre.

There is going to have to be some movement on both sides to develop laws that allow those who wish to buy, collect and use firearms to do so. At the same time make it difficult for those who would use them to take the easy and violent road to achieve anarchy.

In conclusion:
Gun owners need to understand that some people aren’t ever going to keep, or use guns. I know, it seems wrong on so many levels. But, they're allowed to, same concept, different end of the looking glass. Deal with it.

Those who don't believe in guns, you need to understand. You might not want, or see a need, for firearms in your home. Good for you. Not everyone else shares you view. Deal with it.

Joe's Big Bronchial Mis-Adventure

Once again, I am prompted to speak out on a subject that weighs heavily on my mind. No, not my weight, my health. (Yes, the two are at times interchangeable, but not here.) Perhaps I can keep this discussion brief, and to the point. Or not? Since we all know that’s a near impossibility, take a few moments, grab a cuppa and I’ll wait for you here.

Some days I am my own worst enemy. No, It's true!

As some already know, I was recently hospitalized at our local medical center, the Baraga County Memorial Hospital, and Spa. (I made that last part up, but in a perfect world...).

My unscheduled stay at BCMH wasn't entirely of my own doing. Or choosing. Without really trying, I managed to procure my very own case of pneumonia. As bronchial misadventures go, this was a doozie.

As a typical male in good standing, I made every excuse in the book to avoid a trip to the doctor. It’s fair to say my main concerns were avoidance of all things medical and, without putting too fine a point on it, a lack of health insurance.

Let’s face it. Money’s tight. And I know ours isn’t the only household facing this choice. One big medical bill and our economic house of cards will collapse. For good, or not, this choice was made for me. Not by me.

Here’s how it went down

For many weeks I suffered a nagging cough, and an inability to draw in a breath deeper than a paper cut. I was at the point where I might have to declare defeat in the management of my own healthcare. Wallowing in self-pity, and producing enough phlegm to float a small armada, I finally gave in and admitted to my beloved that I was, in fact, sick.

Which, she of course already knew.

After unwillingly pulling my aching body into the passenger side of the Escape, we coasted down to the weekend clinic. After being poked, prodded, and doused with x-rays, the doctor returned with the good news.

“Mr. Schutte”, the good doctor said, “you are very sick.” He then bandied about some medical jargon and a bit of digital hocus-pocus. With a flourish of his fingers across the keys of his laptop, a script for an antibiotic raced through the ether to the pharmacy. Only then was I was returned to the care of the good nurse Katy.

That turned out to be a huge mistake. For me.

Within eight short hours I was in the emergency room, soaked in my own sweat, feebly trying to convince the doctor, my wife and the attending nurse, that it was all some kind of cosmic mistake. If I could just go home, crawl under the covers and sleep until spring I would be just fine.

Apparently it doesn't work that way.

Somewhere after rolling into, and rolling out of Radiology, I discovered I’d been kidnapped and stuffed into a semi-private room. My arm was taped down to an IV drip. (Note to self, call broker, invest in 3M.) There was no mention of a ransom. (That came later, after I was discharged.) 

It would be unfair at this point not to mention the great care I received during my stay at BCMH. The nursing staff and attending physicians were good friends, as we're the kitchen staff and housekeeping. They all looked out for me.

Later in the game

It’s been many months since that nasty bacterial infection took up housekeeping in my lung.  Without so much as asking permission or paying rent. Not surprisingly, I was not fully recovered from the wee beasties that took up residence there. They refused to be evicted. Eminent domain my ass, maybe I should sic the Supreme Court on ’em.

There was the requisite follow-up after leaving the hospital. I endured a couple more x-rays. (I was starting to glow in the dark). Then, after six weeks supervised release into my wife's care, I was declared relatively cured. The term 'cured' being relative here.

Final diagnosis? The almost three-day stay at the Baraga County Memorial Hospital and Spa, drove home the alarming fact that I’ve become more of an old goat and less a spring chicken.

When did that happen?

Mopping up

After all that, one thing troubles me. Okay, more than one, but this first. Why is it, now that I can’t, or shouldn't, I have this almost primal urge to light up a bourbon-soaked stogie?

Perhaps for very same reason I craved a large meat-lovers pizza with extra cheese during my entire stay at BCMH. Which, by the way, clashed horribly with the heart-healthy diet prescribed by, and don’t quote me, the attending ER physician. (With sign-off by my wife, I'm sure.) The same wife who conspired with the doctor to admit me, while I was unable to make important and possibly life-altering medical decisions for myself.

That’ll learn me!

Note: I have made financial arrangements with the hospital regarding my stay (as well as other  past due bills for tests, etc.). However, another stay, for any length, for any reason, without proper health coverage, will be devastating. Financially, or otherwise. I'm just saying. - js

The 2011 State vs Michigan football fashion mash-up!

It’s that time of year. When everyone dresses up and goes out to scare the pants off of everyone in order to get a treat. Or a trick. How does one accomplish this? Well, some will go high-tech, yet throwback. Others will go retro.

First the throwback.
Let’s see. How does that work? The high tech throwback, I mean. Wait for it. Earlier this year,  Nike announced that the Spartans would be one of nine teams chosen to sport their new “Pro Combat Uniform”.  Kinda cool, I guess. The Spartans debuted theirs during the Michigan State vs Michigan game, Sat., Oct. 15, 2011.

As far as collegiate fashion sense goes, the uniforms are very throwback. Lots of bronze, dark green and black. No white. And when I say throwback I mean ancient Greece and Sparta, with a little classical defiance thrown in for good measure.

Beware, boring classical literature reference...
Sewn into the collars of the MSU football team is the Greek phrase “Molon Labe”. Google it and the phrase translates to “come and take them”, supposedly shouted out by King Leonidas of Sparta to the Persians when they demanded Sparta give up their weapons at the battle of Thermopylae.

I recommend renting the movie ‘300'. To say my wife Katy loved those uniforms is an understatement. She kept mumbling something about Gerard Butler parading around half-naked? I make no judgement regarding it’s validity.

Let’s not forget the strong carbon plate Nike has incorporated into the uniform which “symbolically mirrors the Spartan shield”. Ya want symbols? How ‘bout a big, fat white “S” smack in the middle of a green jersey.

For the tragically uninformed, let it be known I have no fashion sense whatsoever (sweats with a good tee or sweatshirt rules the day). I’m certainly no fashionista, but frankly, I like my Spartans decked out in plain ol’ Green and White. I’m just funny that way. (Can you say, “Old fart who doesn’t suffer change well?”) Repeat after me...

Now the retro. Anything you can do...
The fashion report aside, rival Michigan felt the necessity to parade themselves pre-game in their ususal uniforms on Saturday, only to leave and return to the field in a pseudo-retro 1970's all-white travel garb. Frankly, I can’t see too many reasons why I would want to return to the mid-seventies for much of anything, let-alone rehash such fashion faux pas as two-toned men’s platform shoes, feathered-back hair and earth-tones. (Me, not the Wolverines.) Throw in Nixon and it wasn’t our finest hour. Nor mine, fashionably speaking, that is.

All that being said, the Spartan uniforms will supposedly only be worn that one time against Michigan. Even better? Michigan’s loss Saturday was the fourth in a row to the Spartans, leaving Michigan’s graduating seniors with the dubious distinction of not beating the Spartans during their four-year tenure.

Bottom line.
This game wasn’t about new uniforms--or old ones. As Spartan fans and alumni we all know that Michigan doesn’t hold this particular rivalry in the same reverence we do. Ohio State gives them greater pause.

The Wolverines consider the Spartans as one regards a little brother. Someone who needs to be knocked down a peg or two. Why? For no other reason than it’s their job as the older sibling. Guess what? The Spartans are all grown up now. So is this rivalry.

“We are Sparta(ns)!” Deal with it!

Blah, blah, blah

The Reality of Reality Television

In the world of television, a season has just passed, and another approaches. That’s right, while one batch of reality shows has come to their inevitable conclusion, another group steps in to fill the void.

Reality tv comes in a cornucopia of malevolent flavors including searching for the perfect mate, hanging with the friends your mother hates, chronicling the cheating mate (husband, wife or significant other, it’s a varied menu) and hanging with the queens (drag queens, royal weddings, whatever). Nothing is off limits if it’s on cable.

The word ‘reality’ is defined by the Miriam Webster online dictionary as: the quality or state of being real: television programming that features videos of actual occurrences (as a police chase, stunt, or natural disaster) —often used attributively .

So, reality television. It’s swiftly become a part of the modern television lexicon. Be it network or cable, a large portion of what is being regularly programmed over the airwaves, or beamed down from the fringes of the atmosphere comes to us as reality tv. And like it or not, it is here to stay.

What’s the bottom line?
Is reality tv just a portrayal of life as it happens, such as those events mentioned in the Miriam Webster definition? Or a money-making stunt for both players and networks?

Does the video chronicling of a living macrocosm, in some instances populated by the insular lives of idiotic misfits and cretins; so lacking in modesty, common sense and decency; allow it to be formally accepted as life as we know it?

Or, is each episode a portrayal of a life so far removed from reality that to call it so is nothing more than a misnomer? To be viewed as some convoluted form of modern day comic opera? Which, to say the least, is an unfair comparison to the accepted parameters of what is known as comic opera.

In other words, does watching The Bachelor, and then discussing it around the office water cooler, give it an air of legitimacy usually reserved for natural disasters and the NFL draft?

NO. A thousand times, no.

That’s a lot of hyphens!
Just because a television show is “unscripted” and craftily edited, chronicling the day-to-day comings and goings of a group of fun-loving, ethno-centric, beer-guzzling, up-chucking, chain-smoking, name-calling, hair-pulling, foul-mouthed twenty-somethings, or housewives, (or whatever the “it” demographic happens to be at the time), doesn’t make it reality.

Or right.

So let’s stop referring to it as reality television and call it what it really is, entertainment. Nope. That’s not the right word either. It’s more than a word. I’ve got it! Call it a guilty pleasure. That’s a little closer to, well, reality. I guess.

My guilty pleasure? Last Cake Standing. So what does that say about me? Oh, hell. Forget I even brought it up!


                              

Blah, blah, blah

Bipolar II - Outed by Catherine Zeta-Jones

First, let me say I am not ungrateful. Nor do I hold any animosity toward Oscar-winning actress Catherine Zeta-Jones. As a matter of fact, I applaud her for allowing her battle with Bipolar II to be made public.

Shortly after Ms. Zeta-Jones announced her battle, ex-Disney child star Demi Lovato (Sonny with a Chance) recalled her three month stay in a residential treatment center, where, during treatment, she discovered some of her past actions could be directly related to being bipolar. She has spoken openly about it in an upcoming People magazine interview.

So, what is that annoys me? Simple. That it takes Catherine Zeta-Jones and Demi Lovato to suffer from the disease, in order for it to be discussed openly. Hopefully bringing about education and understanding of the disease for those that don’t understand it. As well as for those who are living with it.

I have said this before and I will say it again, “Mental illness is the bastard child of healthcare”.

But she’s not famous.
My wife is one of those unsung sufferers of mental illness. The psychiatrist, who treated her after her first visit to the Marquette General Behavioral Health Adult Psychiatric Unit in 1998, discussed with us that Katy suffered from a condition being bandied about at the time as 'Bipolar II'.

She explained that the concept of the long-held standard of the bipolar diagnosis was sort of heavy-handed. That there was a growing school of psychiatrists, psychologists and therapists who believed there were certain degrees of bipolar disease.

For those in the business of treating mental illness, Bipolar II represented a tier of the disease which presented itself with the ups and downs of the manic/depressive pattern, but showing more regular and shorter highs and lows than the normally accepted Bipolar disease demonstrated. It is important to remember I am not a doctor (but I play one in the bedroom) and am relaying to you the explanation of the disease as I remember it.

In denial.
Sure, everyone knows it’s out there. Mental illness, oooooohhhh scary. But no one really wants to own up to it. The people needing the most help are the ones who can’t, don’t or won’t get it. Those patients needing the new medications (broadcast ad nauseum everywhere), therapy and hospitalization are those who can’t afford it, don’t know about it or their insurance covers just enough to make it an economic hardship.

And lets be truthful, the almighty dollar, or lack thereof, is a driving force when individuals and families are making decisions on getting care, finding therapists and filling much-needed  prescriptions. The decision made oft times is, simply put, going without.

Anecdotal, but true.
Why do I know this? A better question would be, “How do I know this”. Because I’ve been there. On the front line. Supporting my wife. Who, for 20-plus years, has been battling against a foe that knows no boundaries. It’s important to remember, mental illness crosses over all the lines. Class. Economic. Age. Race. Gender.

Most importantly, mental illness doesn’t care if you have good insurance or not.

With the flood of commercials hitting the airwaves and pages of newspapers and magazines touting new medications to combat mental illness, the lion’s share of the those needing such medications and treatment never get them. Without access to good insurance, especially with a low co-pay prescription rider, it’s hard to scrape together the 250 to 400 dollars necessary for the newest anti-depressants hitting the market.

Remember, these drugs, unlike antibiotics, may be necessary for months, even years to be effective in the treatment of mental illness. Even the generic drugs can be out of reach for many sufferers, particularly if many are prescribed at the same time.

No one should suffer from mental illness, diabetes, cancer or any number of diseases, without support. No one should be left behind when they can’t afford their care. But it happens. Every day. But I digress.

Mental health needs a check-up.

Where we stand today.
Sufferers today need access to more psychiatrists. Psychiatrists who aren’t seeing a client list of several hundred patients. Doctors whose limited quality time is spent prescribing medications without the benefit of a lengthy, honest discussion with their patients about the progression of their illness.

In Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, where my wife and I live, there are but a handful of psychiatrists available to a population of approximately 300,000, spread across an area of 16,500 square miles. Most of these doctor’s are centrally located in Marquette, MI which is 72 miles east of where we live.

These mental illness practitioners must rely on the notes of therapists and psychologists who forward their observations in the hope the doctor will actually have time to pore over them before meeting the patient and prescribing said medications.

This needs to change. How? I don’t know. If we can’t fix health care as it stands today, it will be a moot point. But maybe now, with the openness of high profile personalities Catherine Zeta-Jones and Demi Lovato, a dialog of sorts will begin. But, it needs to be discussed honestly, fairly and compassionately.

As Whoopi Goldberg’s alter ego Fontaine would say, “I’ll buy your bull-shit. How much?”

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WE'RE BACK!

Okay, Katy's back today with a new "Life is Like" column. It's the kind of message that makes one look back upon the hurts in life and wonder, "If it's healing, why do I feel this way?" It's very thought provoking.

Myself, well, that's another story. And I am working on it, and many others. I have spent too much time being introspective and not enough looking forward. It's a work in progress...my life, and my writing. Oh, and don't forget the recipes! Mmmmmm,,,

  

LIFE IS LIKE A SCAB

Everyone has had some kind of scab at least once in their life.

Perhaps it was falling off their bike, getting scratched by their loving cat, you get the picture.

Maybe you put a bandage over it and possibly some antibacterial ointment to help it heal.  Or took your chances and let it heal by itself.

Sometimes scabs happen with an ingrown hair or splinter that is so small that you didn’t even realize it was there.  It festers and you just don’t understand why. 

In those, and other cases, it doesn’t go away.  Sometimes you do have to take the scab off to find out what is causing it.   What really lies beneath causing the ugliness? 

What is it in your life that you need to rip off the scab to get to the bottom so you can heal?  It’s different from person to person, although I’m sure that many have more scabs in common with others than they would have ever guessed.

Mine are many.  Here are just a few:  mental illness, drinking, addictions, selfishness, resentment, unforgiveness…I guess that was more than just a few.  Did you see any of those in yourself?  Please don’t tell me I’m the only one in the world holding onto at least one of those!

As I am writing this many of those still have the scab on them.  Still waiting to be uncovered so the root of the problem can be dealt with.  Waiting for me to rip it off, easier said than done.  Maybe I’m not ready to deal with what lies underneath.  Or maybe I just don’t want to.

God has spoken to me by a feeling I have deep inside, He tells me to trust in Him.  Release my fears, anger and whatever else is holding me back from totally trusting in Him.  Release my “control” and let Him be in the driver’s seat (and not be the backseat driver).  

My husband would be more than happy to tell you that even if I’m sitting beside him as he drives, I’m still a backseat driver.

I probably should have added control issues to the above list, but you have already figured that out by now.

I should take my own advice and take some time to really really look deep down and think and pray about why I don’t rip that scab off.  But then there is life.  We get so caught up in day to day that some things get put on the back burner of life.  Is this the case for you?

Here again, it’s easier said than done taking the time to do it, but they don’t have to be done all at one time.  Nor do they have to be done in a certain amount of time.  Maybe you have given up, you’ve tried before and there isn’t only a scab but also scars underneath.

Think of it as a process.  Work on one scar at a time.  Take your time, there are no time limits.  Listen to what God has put in your heart.  That still strong ‘voice’.  He’ll help you through it.

Once the scab is gone take the time to put that “antibiotic” and “bandage” on it.  You’ll be raw, mentally and perhaps physically as well.  Take the time to let it heal properly before trying to go onto the next one. 

Listen to your heart. Don’t forget, He’ll be there to hold your hand, and carry you when you can’t walk.

Katy Manning Schutte

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Tragedy in Arizona

It has taken me three-plus days to digest and understand what has happened in the state of Arizona. And if you don’t know what I am talking about, or haven’t paid close attention to the national news, I envy you.

The loss of life, of any life, to a hail of bullets delivered by a madman plain and simple is indescribable. The shooting of a lawmaker, a judge, a bystander, a child can in no way be justified.

And yet here we are. The death of the innocent painted in blood with the broad brush of intolerance and insanity.

For the past few days pundits and news anchors, bloggers and columnists, as well as everyone else have been struggling to come to terms with this newest bloodshed foisted upon the national landscape. A congresswoman is gunned down in broad daylight and those who work with her or attend the doomed gathering become victims and heroes.

Neither an enviable position to be in.

Can we blame someone’s mental state on someone else's political views? As much as I would like to, I can not. Because rational people don’t finish an argument in gun play. They just don’t. As a nation we should rise above such action. Retaliate with words, whether in patience or anger, but it end it there.

Unfortunately, not everyone is rational. But don’t make the mistake of lumping the mentally ill with those who are, in essence, deranged. It’s not fair to the mentally ill.

The political scene is quite toxic right now. A war of words is engaged between factors from the left, center and the right. There is quite a bit of posturing over the already passed health care bill and animosity toward the president from all sides. Discourse is becoming very heated.

Words have power. Add firearms to the mix and suddenly words become deadly. In a country of over 300 million people and a cherished Bill of Rights, statistically it’s going to happen.

But who is to blame? The right? The left? One deranged person with a gun who can’t tell the difference between (mostly) civil discourse and blatant intolerance? We may never know the whole truth. Nor can we pick and choose half-truths a la carte to satisfy a rush to judgement.

Still, in honor of those injured or killed, in thanks to the brave and heroic, maybe, just maybe, we could dial down the flaming rhetoric. If just for a short while. Even if it wasn’t the cause, there can be effect. Perhaps choosing better symbols to prove, or make, a point for example. At least pretend to listen, even consider, an opposing view before outright belittling it.

The political horizon is fraught with pitfalls. The environment is beyond toxic and it needs to be cleaned up. That toxicity in itself may not kill, but it certainly can poison an already sick mind. Maybe push him or her over the edge into violent insanity. Maybe not.

We can’t know what will trigger the next horrific incident. And there will be one. There always is. What will be the motivating factor? An idea, a thought, a word spit out in anger and hate? Prejudice? Just plain crazy in an all too crazy world?

What is annoying to most may be that which sets off an already deranged or deluded mind into doing the unthinkable. As a nation we can slow that process down, but we will probably never stop it.

But in the name of Abraham Lincoln, Harvey Milk, John F. Kennedy, Martin Luther King, and now Gabrielle Giffords, Judge John Roll, Christina Taylor Green, Gabe Zimmerman, Phyllis Schneck, Dorwin Stoddard, and Dorothy Morris, we can, and should, try.


                                              

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Christmas 2010

Christmas. My favorite time of the year.

This year, however, is vastly different than in holiday’s past. Why? Two things stand out for my wife and myself this season. While Christmas is considered a time of giving, my wife and I this year can not. At least not in a material gift-giving sense.

It isn’t because we are unwilling, but because we are unable. The very reason we are unable to give gifts this season has, in fact for us, clarified the spiritual aspect of Christmas. Bringing it that much more into focus.

Give vs Receive
Giving vs receiving. The role each plays during the holiday season is magnified ten-fold when feeling the pinch financially. It doesn’t matter if it’s the loss of a job or an unanticipated decrease in family income by losing one of two or more breadwinners. If there is scarcely enough money for the bare essentials, where is the money coming from for a sleigh-load of presents?

Certainly we would like to be generous in our gift-giving. But not this year. I have no idea how a family of four or five would handle a hard candy Christmas. It makes me shudder just thinking about it.

Children shouldn’t have to wonder if there will be presents under the tree. Or if there will even be a tree.

“Why did Santa forget us this year?” A young child may lament. How does a heart-broken parent explain? It brings a tear to my eye just thinking about it. For some, grandma and grandpa may come through in a pinch. But that is not always the case. 

The last couple of years have been hard financially and emotionally on many people in the United States--and all over the world. Things may be picking up for Wall Street. But, Main Street is still feeling the pinch.

Frankly, I would rather find my Christmas stocking empty than heavy with lumps of coal. Santa knows...
  
But the holidays are not all about presents, parties and bows. Nestled in between Thanksgiving and New Year’s Day is the humble, most solemn holy day of Christmas. The day celebrating the birth of our Lord, Jesus Christ.

Katy and I are anticipating a quite Christmas together after visiting with family. The tree is up and decorated. An Eskimo-theme Nativity adorns the breakfast nook. Colored lights are intertwined with faux pine garland draping the bookshelves. Stuffed Snoopy Santas stand side-by-side with Victorian-era Santa figurines on a writing desk. It’s holiday eclectic. I make no apologies.

Here’s the bottom line for us this year: Christmas is coming. Presents optional. And that’s okay. Sometimes it’s good to remember what Christmas is all about. And it’s not us. It’s not expensive presents. It’s not about turkey and all the trimmings. (Actually, that’s kind of a bonus. A small turkey has made its way to our freezer this year. Thanks to sister Liz!)

Merry Christmas vs Happy Holiday(s) Controversy
The holy day of Christmas can be easily separated from the far more commercial entity known as the “holiday” season. Yet, both can co-exist as long as it is understood that they are not co-equals.

Linus Van Pelt said it best when he quoted the Gospel of Luke, verses 8 through 14 from the King James Version:

"'And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid. And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger. And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace and goodwill towards men (“Or all”, as my wife would say. This is the 21st century!)'"

 "......That's what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown." Cue commercial.

The holiday season starts with Thanksgiving. Advent begins. Moving on to Hanukkah, it migrates to Winter Solstice,  Kwanza and ends with the New Year. Sandwiched within is Christmas. A season of holidays. Plural.

Celebrate them all. Or none. It’s up to you and your spiritual compass. In our home we try to recognize them all in some small way, but the birth of Christ is most important to us.

And so I finish with wishing you all a Happy Holiday! Because there are many and I don’t feel like ticking them off individually every time I greet someone. It’s too much like work. As we get closer to the ‘day’ I will wish you a Merry Christmas, and finally Happy New Year. It’s a season of holidays. Enjoy them all!

Note: For those who scream to the mountain top about the hijacking of “Christ” in Christmas, he has hasn’t gone anywhere. The Christ in Christmas remains firmly in place. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. The only people who see a war on Christmas are those folks decrying that there is a war on Christmas. If someone wishes you a “Happy Holiday” be a good Christian, go ahead and wish them a “Merry Christmas”. They won’t be offended. Neither should you.



                   

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A beautiful thing: Kim and Henry tie the knot.

Great things can happen to regular people. Some might pick the winning numbers of the lottery. Another may have a long-forgotten Michelangelo painting hidden behind the couch. Most of us, while we do need money, and who doesn’t, would really just settle for a smidge of happiness.

The greatest path to such happiness is sometimes fairly simple. Often it’s as elementary as finding the perfect ‘Someone’ to enrich their life. The concept of finding Mr. or Ms. Right, of course, is elegantly simple. It’s execution can be somewhat more, shall we say, complicated.

Let’s face it. I’m a sucker for weddings. It’s always fun to see someone else take the plunge, painfully unaware that instead of an Olympic-sized pool waiting below, it’s more like a child’s sand bucket. Minus the water, of course. But plenty of sand.

It’s not that I abhor marriage. Or being married, for that matter. I’m a big fan. Marriage is not for the faint of heart. There is a such a big disconnect between the extolled vision of a future happiness, versus the sometime’s harsh reality of daily togetherness.  

What the hell. They can figure it out for themselves. We did.

Complicated for some, not all
That wasn’t the case a couple of weeks ago when Katy’s niece Kim and her “Mr. Someone” were caught exchanging vows in a beautiful wedding ceremony in Marquette. The bride was beautiful and blushing, the groom exuded pride and faithfulness. All very important qualities when searching for the perfect mate.

Kim found her Mr. Right. Quite honestly, I’m not sure Henry even had a chance. Henry, on the other hand, has in his new bride a wondrous quality. Faith. Faith in God. Faith in the sacrament of marriage and most importantly, faith in her chosen partner. I expect Henry will not disappoint. Right Henry?

Both sides of the aisle celebrated with the bride and groom after a beautiful, sometimes humorous, ceremony before God, their families and friends. The bride was gorgeous, no, stunning in her bridal gown.

He’s a fashion trailblazer!
Sources close to the family tell the story that Henry, given the opportunity to participate fully in the overall planning of the nuptials had but one request. Can you say ‘camo’?

That’s right, we’re talking the cutting edge of Yooper fashion here. Camouflage vests for himself and the groomsmen. Not something you’re likely gonna see on WE tv’s ‘My Fair Wedding’. I expect the look will be all the rage at shotgun weddings everywhere!

After the service, everyone broke away for either pictures, catching up with family or a quick run back into town for some quick shopping before upcoming cocktails, dinner and dancing at Marquette Mountain. (Last time I attended an event there it involved downhill racing, operating a cafeteria tray without a license, and the unfortunate death of tens-of-thousands of innocent brain cells. Not pretty.)

The dinner served was, as some people say, awesome. The spread was premier Yooper wedding fare: cheese and crackers, salad, meatballs, baked beans, ham, rolls, lasagna and some things I’ve probably forgotten. The open bar pulled two kinds of beer–heavy and lite. Who could ask for more? I did. Twice.

The bottom line
I expect this new partnership will fare better than some. Perhaps better than most. Why? This is a marriage, not of convenience or necessity, but of trust and fellowship. Of love. The real deal. It will never diminish. It can only grow.

To Kim and Henry Schwanke: Live long. Love longer. Don’t look back. Look forward, together. ’Nuf said.

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Michigan State Spartans meet the BCS

Time is counting down until mid-term elections and I have only one thing on my mind right now. That’s right! The Michigan State Spartan Men’s football team is slated at number five in the most recent BCS rankings.

Personally I’ve never cared much for the BCS. That stands for Bowl Championship Series for those that don’t know. Kinda like WTF stands for ...well I think most people get the gist.

I don’t particularly like how the rankings are compiled. It’s a complicated process that includes three components: USA Today Coaches Poll, Harris Interactive College Football Poll and an average of six computer rankings. Each component will count one-third of a team's overall BCS score in the BCS standings.

Question: Why does a computer have the same clout as a coach when the BCS crunches numbers? Did the Supreme Court have a hand in this? I kid, I kid. Sorta.
   
Then again...
It’s always different when your team is having a Cinderella season. I will stand firmly behind the BCS ranking until it turns against us (as it inevitably will) sweeping away any hope of a shot at the national championship.

Frankly, I’d rather see the Spartans play in the Rose Bowl any day over the BCS Championship.

The Rose Bowl is literally the gold standard of bowl games. The BCS Championship always seems to bring confusion and disarray to the party; specially after the regular season games are played. Without a true playoff system there will always be pretenders to the throne.

Not to mention there is something a bit hinky about a championship whose teams are initially ranked by a couple of football polls and at least one neurotic computer with delusions of grandeur. Can you say HAL 9000? Perhaps, without naming names, I should include some coaches in that category as well.

And yet Michigan State is ranked number five this week. Will wonders never cease?

The Iowa Hawkeyes may have something to say about that. As long as we’re ranked in the top five, everyone with a BCS Championship complex is going to be gunning for us. It is my hope that Coach Dantonio’s gridiron machine can focus its penchant for causing mayhem at frat parties, breaking bad with their terms of probation and reckless driving charges into a continued winning season.

Or not. We’ll just have to see.

Not since 1966, when my aunt Jane and uncle Dave attended MSU have the Spartans had an 8-0 opening to the season. Back then Spartan defensive lineman Bubba Smith, quarterback Jimmy Raye, wide receiver Gene Washington, rover George Webster and barefoot kicker Dick Kenney led State to a 9-0-1 season (the tie being the controversial “Game of the Century” against Notre Dame).

Michigan State and Notre Dame both laid claim to being national champions that year.

Family lore
As a matter of fact, my aunt Jane (my mom’s sister) was living on campus at Michigan State in the same dorm as Bubba Smith. To this day she fondly claims he owes her a minimum of six Marlboro Cigarettes--having bummed them off her in the hallway during an age when smoking was cheap and still socially acceptable. Bubba would ask her for a smoke in a long, drawn-out Texas drawl that couldn’t be refused. How cool was that? 

My Spartan football enthusiasm is cranked all the way to code “Green and White”. To top it off, a couple of weeks ago my beloved wife surprised me with a Michigan State-theme garden gnome, decked out in green and white sporting a big, white Spartan logo on his even bigger green, gnome-y hat.

I have christened him “Sparty-cus, the Gnarly Gnome.” Sparty-cus can be seen daily in the unenviable capacity posing as my new avatar on my Facebook page. (See pic below).

Regardless of how the season plays out, Michgian State has proven itself a force to be reckoned with on the playing field. Finally. Off the field is another matter entirely. There is much work still to be done. The BCS ranking notwithstanding, this team has much to prove. To themselves, their coach and their fans.
                 

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Coping...when life sucks!

There is nothing quite like being without a job to bring everything little thing that’s wrong with your life into the sphere of the extraordinarily overblown and petty. That’s what happens when one has too much time on their hands.

Unemployment sucks.

Suddenly, days that once brought some semblance of peace and harmony to frazzled nerves now hover somewhere between threat-level orange (bills that are only three months past due) to threat-level “oh my god, I just can’t deal with it today” red. It’s hard to step back and detach from the reality of  “here’s what we need” vs “what we can actually afford”. Admittedly, it’s not fair.

But for many it’s the state of today’s reality.

So what do we do? As a collective, we do what we can with whatever’s available to us. In some cases it may be with what little is left. I certainly attempt to do my best under these trying circumstances.

Granted, that may not be enough. Other times it’s just enough to get by. Which isn’t necessarily a win, by the way.

Who do we blame? What do we do?
As frustrating as life can be, or has become, we can’t take out our frustrations on others. That’s not an option. Even if those who deserve it, well, deserve it.

Nor, as a course of remedial action am I advocating holding it in. That’s a heart attack or stroke in the making. If you’re without health insurance that’s just another drain on the already stressed family dynamic. We must find healthy, positive outlets to vent our frustrations and avoid those whose endings ultimately result in community service–or worse.

Channeling Yoda
Does this mean Joe, “lost it, he has?” Nope, that happened a long time ago. I’m going to ride that crest right into the sunset of my life. I’m talking about taking some of our frustrations (negative energy for those with New Age inclinations) out on the ball field, the garden, the next door neighbors aggravating wind-chimes or annoying bug zapper (zzzzzzpth)*.

*Lengthy note to self: leaving an anonymous made-from-scratch pie or something of comparable value in place of the last two mentioned ‘objects d’art’ might be necessary, or prudent. Or at least polite.

Also included in the aforementioned category and a questionably appropriate gesture would be: Giving the finger. This move is only sanctioned as an action of last resort; as long as you’re not seen or so far away as not to be recognized.

This action should not be employed where cops, your ex, or the parish priest/minister/rabbi/head of coven are involved, or within spitting distance. (These pillars of society, no matter how sage, should be avoided at all costs. They just know stuff. Or, have access to any of a number of files compiled under your real (or assumed) name; can arrest you; damn you; or worse, curse you. Not good.)

Let’s scratch those options from our collective consciousness and  file under “Feels good, but short-term benefits far outweighed by long-term consequences”.

In conclusion
My advice, like that of everyone else, is free, and always freely given. Sometimes it’s just easier beating your head against the proverbial, yet hopefully imaginary, wall. No existential pain, but then again, no real gain.



                                       

A two-fer! Blah, Blah, Blah; Rants and Ramblings

Thoughts, Post Independence Day, 2010
              
Sometimes it’s just a struggle to concentrate these days on just one topic with which to regale you when visiting this blog. From time to time I may compromise by doing a post consisting of a collection of mini-rants and ramblings. Caution: this blog has liberal tendencies, conservatives read at your own risk.

This is one such post. Two, technically.

The Green and White dodge a bullet!
It’s been a couple of weeks now since I feared the worst. Will the world end in 2012? Nah, there’s no money in it for anyone. The well-dressed doomsayer would just waste it on neon clapboards anyway.

No, my greatest fears, while sometimes paranoid and oft times unfounded, remain securely locked in the recesses of my mind. Firmly held back by the voices in my head. For now. It gives the voices something positive to do, saving me from the embarrassment of having to explain their whereabouts when I go over the deep end.  

Voices aside, my latest rambling shouts out to the Green and White--Michigan State University. Naturally. The MSU men’s basketball program dodged a potentially fatal bullet recently. If you weren’t aware (or your nervous system is constantly bombarded by the unnatural hues of blue and corn hemorrhaging through the visible light spectrum) there was the possible defection of men’s hoops coach Tom Izzo to the bright lights of Cleveland, OH.
                                 
Or did it?
Coach Izzo briefly flirted with the thought of leaving collegiate sports when the Cavs management dazzled the Yooper native with an almost obscene amount of green (appropriate here, don’t you think) to walk over to the dark side. Not to mention an opportunity to coach one of the greatest players the game has ever seen, LeBron James.

But there were two huge obstacles standing between Tom and the Cavaliers (actually three if you include the mere thought of the basketball dynasty he carefully built at MSU imploding). The first being LeBron James. There was no guarantee the focal point of the Cav’s offense was even staying with the team. His free agency is in full force. The second, and most important? Tom’s fans within and outside the University. ‘Nuf said there, I think.

Let’s recap. Michigan State University or Cleveland? Money, lots and lots of it. LeBron James, maybe. Okay, the money was totally obscene--all that green--and I’d of shamelessly gathered it up without looking back. Maybe roll in it naked in the privacy of my own bedroom. Who wouldn’t? Tom, of course. He remains true to the Green and White. Who was worried? Yeah, yeah. Nothing more to read here. Let’s move it along.

Thanks for nuthin’
I want to take a moment to thank our congressmen and women, as well as our senators, on both sides of the aisle for....wait for it...NOTHING. Congress has gone home for the July 4 holiday. But not before they chose to walk away from a vote on an extension for benefits for the jobless, nor a vote on reigning in the excesses of Wall Street.

So the score remains, Wall Street one, the jobless voter, the underemployed, small business, the struggling family, the shrinking middle class, schools, seniors, the uninsurable, the States... nothing. Zippo. Seems fair, wouldn’t you say? (That is sarcasm, just so no one misinterprets what I am trying to convey.)

Apparently, to our lawmakers, ‘We the People’ are meaningless non-entities. If we aren’t a special interest group we’re unimportant. If we can’t be traded on the stock exchange, we’re of no use, or importance, to the men and women we voted into office.

And why should they care?

They’ve got the best health insurance money can buy–for life. Not us. God forbid there should be a national health plan like that! I hear the pay isn't half bad, either.

Most politicians have lifted nothing heavier than their forks in the pursuit to put food on the table. In some ways they’re more entitled than the minorities they rail against.

When they leave office they’ll most likely saunter over to K Street and make even bigger bucks as lobbyists. No fear of missing a meal there. They’re set. For life. (See a recurring theme?)

Here’s what we “The People” get
One law-maker for the Republicans went so far as to suggest the retirement age for Social Security be raised to 70, as well as including cuts to said program, to pay for the wars. How’s that again? Another senator of the same persuasion is blocking Wall Street reform to guarantee that the taxpayer, not banks, pay for the cost of the bill.

Just because the Party of No believes some voters are writing off the Dems doesn’t necessarily mean those same voters are even thinking of turning to the same nay-sayers for refuge (or the Tea Party for that matter). The Dems, on the other hand, are doing no one any favors by refusing to stand up to the Republicans or to stand up for the people of this great nation who voted for them. Needless to say banks and insurance companies have no such fear. (See, recurring theme.)

The fact that my voice isn’t necessarily heard doesn’t mean I don’t have an opinion. I do. So do many others like me. Unfortunately we weren’t recently bailed out. So, bottom lining it, we won’t be heard. (Again with the recurring theme.) Is there an app for that?





                          

This is the recipe that goes with the 'Channeling Your Inner Top Chef'. A bit late in posting, this recipe uses Sugar Twin (brown sugar substitute). Enjoy!

Cinnamon-Raisin Swirl Bread

This recipe is written for use with a stand mixer. We use a KitchenAid. Unfortunately, unlike my grandmothers, I don’t make bread kneading by hand. Unless, of course, I have a serious need for either doorstops or bricks.

Gather together
    * 1/2 cup whole milk (substitute 2% if desired)
    * 4 tablespoons (1/2 stick) unsalted butter, cut into pieces.
    * 1 envelope of instant yeast (2 1/4 teaspoons)
    * 1/2 cup warm water (about 110 degrees F)
    * 1/3 cup sugar or Sugar Twin
    * 2 large eggs
    * 1 1/2 teaspoons salt
    * 3 1/4 to 3 3/4 cups (16 1/4 to 18 3/4 ounces) unbleached all-purpose flour, divided, plus more for dusting the work surface

Sugar Cinnamon Filling
    * 1/4 cup sugar or Sugar Twin
    * 5 teaspoons ground cinnamon
    * ½ cup raisins - optional
    * Milk for brushing

Egg wash
    * 1 egg and 1 tablespoon milk (or water)

Heat the milk and butter until the butter melts. Cool until warm (about 110 degrees F). I do this in the microwave, it’s quicker, but use a thermometer to double check the temp. Too hot and you’ll kill the yeast.

In the mixing bowl of your stand mixer sprinkle yeast over the warm water (if it’s cold, slightly warm the bowl in the oven or under hot water first). Fit the mixer with the paddle attachment.
              
Beat in the sugar and eggs and mix at low speed to blend.

Add the salt, warm milk and butter mixture and 2 cups of the flour. Mix at medium speed until blended.

Switch to the dough hook.

Add one and one-quarter cups more flour and knead at medium low speed. (Number 2 on a KitchenAid. If your stand mixer is different please check the manual for making bread). Add more flour sparingly if the dough sticks to the side of the bowl. Note: this could be as much as another half cup or more of flour and about four minutes or more mixing with the dough hook. When it pulls cleanly from the sides of the bowl the dough is ready.

Turn the dough onto a floured work surface and shape into a round.

Transfer the dough to a lightly oiled bowl (I spray the bottom and sides with cooking spray) then rotate the dough to oil all sides. Cover the bowl with plastic wrap (covered in cooking spray to prevent dough from sticking to wrap).  Let the dough rise until doubled in size, about 2 hours.

Turn the dough onto a floured work surface making sure not to fold the dough. Let the dough rest about 10 minutes.

Grease the bottom and sides of a 9x5 loaf pan.

Mix the cinnamon and sugar in a small bowl.

Press the dough into a rectangle and with the short side facing you. Roll the dough with a rolling pin into a 18 inch by 8 inch rectangle-approximately. It’s not going to be perfectly rectangular, so don’t panic.

Brush the dough liberally with milk. Sprinkle the cinnamon-sugar mixture evenly over the dough, leaving about a one inch border on the far side. Sprinkle on the raisins. Starting at the side closest to you, snugly roll up the dough. Tuck in the dough gently with your fingertips to seal it as you’re shaping it. With the seam side up, pinch the ends of the dough together.

Place the loaf seam-side down in the prepared pan. If the loaf is larger lengthwise than the pan don’t be afraid to scrunch the dough from either side to make it fit. It may look like a drunken inch-worm, but that’s okay. Cover the top of the pan loosely with plastic wrap covered in cooking spray (I reuse the previous wrap) and set aside to rise until it’s an inch or more above the top of the pan. This could take from one-half hour to as long as an hour-and-a-half, depending on how warm your kitchen is and the season.

Pre-heat the oven to 350 degrees F. Make sure oven is at 350 for at least 15 minutes to prevent the temp from dropping drastically when you open the door and place in the bread.

Just as you’re about to put the bread into the oven whisk together the egg and the milk. Gently brush the top of the loaf with the egg mixture; place bread on a rack in the center of the oven. Squirt water inside the oven with four or five squeezes of a squirt bottle filled with water, the nozzle set to stream. We want to make steam! Quickly close the door. The water isn’t entirely necessary, but it helps create a crustier top.

Baking
Bake until the loaf is golden brown and sounds hollow if you were tap the top of the bread hard with your index finger or with your knuckles (about 35-40 minutes).

Remove the bread from the pan and cool it on its side on a wire rack until room temperature, at least 45 minutes. Katy and I lasted 15 minutes before we decided to cut into the loaf. Wait longer, if you can, as it makes cutting easier and tears the bread apart less.
          
Notes:
I baked this bread 5 minutes longer (40 minutes vs 35). Don’t be afraid to use the entire amount of sugar and cinnamon. It looks like a lot, but I think it’s just barely enough. The same applies when replacing the sugar with Sugar Twin. Feel free to add more raisins, if you’re a raisin kinda person, before rolling up and placing in bread pan.

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Channeling Your Inner 'Top Chef'
Unless you’ve been dead, locked in a closet--or letting your brain turn to mush watching episodes of The Hills the last few years--you may have noticed that slapping together our daily bread has been elevated from the ordinary to almost super-star status.

There will be no more reheated leftovers or delivery pizza. Not if the executives of the latest addition to our cable and satellite line-ups have anything to say about it. It is time to rise above the hum-drum and into the stratosphere of do-it-yourself haute cuisine. That’s fancy-schmancy chef parlance for those of us McDonald’s-eating heathen-types.

The new channel, called Cooking Channel, fired up at the end of May. Targeted at a younger, more hip crowd, Cooking Channel aims to bring out the inner Top Chef in all of us. Kicking and screaming, if necessary.

Moms, dads or anyone whose idea of an elegant meal involves paper plates, frozen dinners and an unhealthy fascination with the family microwave need not apply.

Over the last decade (if not longer) cooking has come of age. No longer the playground of the rich and famous, what we once would have called “fancy” restaurants are popping up everywhere. Some within easy reach of the average Joe’s pocketbook, some not.
               
How provincial
Thanks to the likes of popular cooking personality Guy Fieri and his equally popular Food Network showcase Diner’s, Drive-ins and Dives down-home, regional cooking has been elevated to haute cuisine status as well. In a very provincial, affordable way, of course.

BBQ ribs, as a food group, have attained superstar status and it seems everyone has a favorite restaurant that serves them “just right”. Peasant food is all the rage. Pasties are next.

Want good bread, make your own. There’s a show for that.

Even I’m joining the fray by posting an easy cinnamon swirl bread recipe on this site. (To be up soon!) And trust me, baking bread is not my forte. For that reason alone, Julia is probably spinning in her grave.

The movement to reinvent cooking and give it back to the masses, is a good thing. Seeing it prepared on tv in easy to do steps makes it comfortable to accomplish at home for family and friends. Even if it’s only once a week. Gathering in the kitchen and sitting down together at the dinner table can only strengthen a family.

Proof is in the (family) pudding
It worked for my family. Even when the girls and I became older, moving from grade school to junior high, and junior high to high school (even spending summers home during our college years). Sure, we may have cultivated and hung out with a new “crew” outside our family dynamic but dinner at home was the focal point of our day.

In essence, we were forced to interact with one another. As Martha would say, “That’s a good thing!” The Schutte clan is a boisterous family. With the parents trading off as co-ring masters, my sisters and I unwittingly revealed the good, the bad and the scholastic while wolfing down homemade meatloaf or mom’s still secret spaghetti sauce over noodles.

Sharing food together has an uncanny way of making that happen.

Not every day is going to be a Food TV or a Cooking Channel day. Most days are going to be a challenge just getting out the door and on the way to work or school. Without freaking. Learning a new recipe from a tv show on a cooking network and presenting it to family and friends isn’t necessarily going to change that. But it might make it a little easier!

We could all use a break. Allez cuisine!

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On Schutte life stage, it’s all improvisation

Nothing in life goes exactly as planned. Wouldn’t it be grand if a plan actually came together? Life would be too easy if that were even remotely the case.

I’m not saying having goals in one’s life is somehow wrong, or a study in futility. Goals are good. Possibly even necessary–and at times highly over-rated. The question remains, what happens to us if even the best laid plans are not achieved? Or we fall short on expectation? Does life as we know it end? Are we somehow viewed as less an individual in the eyes of others; when these so-called goals are not achieved? I would venture not.

In our own minds we have great anticipation of where life will lead us. Or at the least where we expect life to lead us. However, it all becomes more clear and focused as we discover that we are leading life–life isn’t leading us.

Even in my cluttered and twisted mind it can be no other way. But it has taken many years, a marriage, two distinctly different career paths and careful introspection to understand. Not that life doesn’t have a certain amount of say in the matter. That point became more than evident when I was staring unemployment straight in the face. Totally unexpected.

The fact remains, in order to live life, we must take life by the reigns--and not the other way around. Life is a work in progress. The rules change and bend depending on circumstances and need. And we react accordingly.

There are rules?
Ultimately we begin our biographies with a clean slate and fill it in the blanks along the way. We get a little, or a lot, of coaching from parents, teachers, friends and family. Yes, even the church plays a role.

There are no better rules than the ones handed down by God in her many manifestations. For me and mine it’s the Ten Commandments. (Others may follow different paths, but I believe the destination is always the same.) My greatest fault is that I have a tendency to treat certain commandments as suggestions. I am not perfect. As I am sure God is well aware!

Sealing the deal is that favorite aunt or uncle who never played by the rules, injecting a little bit of crazy into our lives just to keep it interesting. Sometimes they are the best of all role models, depending on who is judging!

It’s not a level playing field out in the real world, either. Thankfully most of us come to the table armed with a willingness to learn; to work hard for the things we want; to keep an open mind and--most importantly--a conscience.

Others have been told all they need to do to make it in this world is take what they want, by hook or crook. Be ever diligent, they may want what is yours. The evening news is rife with such stories. Can you say, “Bernie Madoff?” Why work for it, when it can be taken by brute force--or otherwise?

Life, and the world in general, would be so much simpler if we all played fair and all went according to plan. But it doesn’t and it won’t. Plans are highly over-rated.

One time free offer
Advice is free and usually unwanted. Which makes this a doozy! I am passing on this little gem to you (as if I need to): More often than not, in life, we must abide by one of these three basic principles: stick to the plan; improvise; or fake it.

I have decided to improvise.

Welcome!
Welcome to my blog. It is a big departure from my weekly column at the L’Anse Sentinel. Here, as a good friend pointed out, I can be more free with my thoughts, without worrying too much (okay, a little) about whom I might, or might not offend.

The overall editing will be a bit spotty as well, as I am without the more-than-capable talents of Sentinel editor Barry Drue to guide me. Which leaves it all on the shoulders of my other editor, one Katy Schutte, wife and number one fan (or so she says). Oh well, you can’t have it all, I guess. I shall strive to do my best.

This blog shall endeavor to be humorous, serious, extroverted and sometimes just plain silly. And if you’re okay with that feel free to let me know. If you’re not, then perhaps this isn’t the place for you.

Here, for as long as I can manage it, will be my column (attempting to be written on a weekly basis). Also included will be pages featuring recipes, random thoughts (hopefully coherent and intelligible), and anything else that amuses me.

My wife Katy will have a page of her own here as well. Contained within will be samples of her photography and her own thoughts put to word, which she likes to call “Life is Like...”

Some (close relatives) have said I like to hear the sound of my own voice. This will be the online equivalent. My iVoice perhaps? Feel free to check in from time-to-time. I’ll try to keep it interesting!