Admit it.  I know what you are thinking, another blog.  Another person giving us her political opinions.  Another person ranting about something she dislikes.  Another person telling us how to think.  Well, I cannot promise you that this won’t ever happen, but I can tell you that this blog will be different from others that you may have read.   

Lakeside Reflections will take the present and relate it to the past, taking you on a journey down memory lane.  We’ll explore the future and what lays ahead for our community and us.  We will look at people, places, and events taking place in our community.  While municipal borders may separate us, we are all one, a North Shore community.  Our North Shore community is a small segment of a much larger community, the metropolitan Milwaukee area; a community that we all call “home”.

Growing up, I repeatedly said that after college and law school, I would not return to Milwaukee.  At heart, I am a big city girl.  I wanted the big city hustle and bustle lifestyle, but in 1990 something brought me back “home”.  I don’t know the answer as to why I came back, but maybe it was a realization that our community would re-vitalize itself and this would be the “home” that I was looking for.

Our city is a mix of new and old.  Wonderful restaurants, theatres, and shops housed in old historic buildings.  World-class museums housed in modern architectural structures dot the lakefront.  A new North Shore neighborhood was created with the transformation of Bayshore into a bustling town center.  

Our North Shore community along with the big city of Milwaukee does provide the hustle and bustle lifestyle but at a calmer pace.  A pace perfect to raise a family, a pace that allows us to enjoy all that a bigger city has to offer, but yet lets us feel as though we are a part of a community.  A community that we all call “home”; and home is where the heart is.   

Where has summer gone?  Where has the time gone?  As a kid, the Fourth of July marked the halfway point of summer.  The half way point between the last test of the year and the opening of a new notebook.  Time has snuck up on us and the halfway point of summer is here.

The Fourth of July means BBQs, parades and fireworks.  Fireworks - a Fourth of July tradition.  The dark summer's sky lights up with glowing orange worms and yellow and green starbursts.  Today it seems like there is a fireworks show every weekend; each proclaiming to be the biggest of them all.  As a kid going to see fireworks was an event, not a weekly happening, and I was lucky because I got to see three fireworks shows. 

Like many Milwaukeeans, our Fourth of July would begin on the night of the third of July.  Fireworks at the lakefront, a Milwaukee tradition.  Thousands of people gathering along the shore of Lake Michigan with coolers, Frisbees, and blankets, all in search of the perfect spot to clearly view the glowing orange worms and colorful starbursts that would soon light up the July sky.  

But not my family; my Dad didn’t like crowds so he gave my Mom, my Brother, and me a different perspective on viewing fireworks.  He would load us into our maroon Oldsmobile Delta 88 and we would cruise I-43, I-94, and parts in between; back and forth, driving north, south, east, and west.  As long as a car window faced east, our faces were peeled to the glass, looking out of it in hopes that we would see a glowing orange worm or colorful starburst.  Staring out the eastward facing windows, we would say, “I hear one, maybe we’ll see this one.  Oh, there’s a bridge in the way.”  “There’s one!  Look above the Marc Plaza.”  Oooh! Ahhh!  When the point came that we had to twist our necks like an owl to look east, my Dad would say, “don’t worry kids, I’ll turn around and you’ll see some more.” 

And that he did, driving back and forth, cruising the streets and highways of Milwaukee, until the car continued north on I-43 to Silver Spring Drive.  Our fireworks show, all four or five of the fireworks that we actually saw, was over but we knew that we were in for a treat.  We were gong to the Milky Way for custard.  Granted,we went there often, but on the third of July we just didn’t get cones of chocolate or vanilla, we each ordered a large hot fudge sundae. Gooey hot fudge atop mounds of melting creamy vanilla custard, topped with a bright red maraschino cherry. Adhering to our lesson in crowd avoidance, we sat inside that maroon Delta 88 and carefully ate our sundaes, making sure we didn’t drip any gooey hot fudge or melting custard onto the crushed velour upholstery.

Our second and third fireworks displays came on the Fourth of July.  Again, it was a chance for my Dad to give us his unique perspective on viewing fireworks and lesson on how to avoid crowds.  Just after the sun set and the sky darkened, he would call us together.  “Come in the kitchen, you will be able to see them out the window.”  There we were, all four of us standing around the small kitchen window facing northwest, looking at the fireworks about to be shot off from Brown Deer Park.  

"I hear one.” “I don’t see anything. That must have been a ground firework.”

"Look, through the trees, green starbursts.”

Oooh! Ahhh!

My Dad had the timing down perfectly.  He knew when the next fireworks display was to begin.  About twenty minutes after standing in front of the kitchen sink, looking northwest through the trees towards Brown Deer Park, he would say, “come on kids, let’s go outside.”

He had two blankets on the ground and two lawn chairs made from scratchy green and white webbing, one for him and one for my Mom.  We weren't going to the park; our front lawn was the park.  My Dad sprayed my Brother and me with bug repellant so strong that we smelled like a can of Off for a week.  My Mom was in charge of pouring us glasses of pink lemonade from her harvest gold jug, which frankly became swimming pools for the mosquitos that didn't land on us. Holding our pink mosquito swimming pools, we sat outside on those blankets and chairs facing southeast to get a clearer view of the fireworks that were soon going to be shot off from Kletzsch Park.

"I hear one.  There was the boom."  "I don't see anything.  That must have been a ground firework."

"Look!  Through the trees, green and yellow starbursts." 

Oooh! Ahhh!

While I was lucky to see three fireworks display, I now realize that each year what I actually saw was a half of an entire fireworks show, if that.

This year marks the ninth annual Glendale Days, the premier Fourth of July celebration in the North Shore area.  My husband, daughter, and I have attended several of the previous eight Glendale Days and we will be there again this year.  We will listen to music, enjoy carnival food, spray ouselves with not so smelly bug repellant, and wait for the summer's sky to turn dark so that we can enjoy the glowing orange worms and the colorful starbursts that light up the July sky.

By the way, the Fourths of July that the three of us have not spent at Glendale Days, well, we have spent them on the corner of our front lawn.  We were sitting on our blankets, holding our glasses of pink lemonade, and looking southeast towards Kletzsch Park, watching the fireworks through the trees.  And some how I could hear my Dad saying "Oooh! Ahhh!"  

Today marks the last day of Summerfest 2008.  The last day to hear your favorite band.  The last day to eat your favorite Summerfest food, and the last day to see whether it is as crowded around the Miller Oasis as it was last year.  Most of all, it's the last day to put on your big Summerfest smile before another year of lakefront food, music, and fun comes to a close.

As we walk through the turnstile for the last day of Summerfest 2008, we will all reflect on the many concerts that we have seen throughout the years.  It may have been Bob Dylan, Huey Lewis and the News, or even Bob Hope, all who performed at the old Main Stage.  Maybe it was Paul Simon, Tina Turner, or John Denver at the Marcus Amphitheater; we all have our memories.  After each concert someone wearing a concert tour T-shirt could be overheard saying, “this was the best concert ever.” This person could point to the concert date on the back of that T-shirt and say, “I was there.”

We also need to look beyond those headliners that we saw throughout the years and reflect on the musicians that we have heard on the smaller stages; and there have been many regardless of your taste in music.  Where else but at Summerfest have you been able to hear the talents of Ringo Starr, Marcia Ball, and Kansas for one small price.

And then there have been the many up and coming artists performing throughout the day.  Their talents were never overlooked.  Today, the end of Summerfest 2008 is also your last chance to see tomorrow’s next star.

While we walk from stage to stage with a beer, soda, or bottle of water in our hands, we will be wearing a big Summerfest smile as remember those concerts from years gone by.

Even though today marks the last day of Summerfest 2008, it also marks a beginning.  The beginning of a new generation of people putting on a big Summerfest smile.  While these people may have attended previous Summerfests, tonight will mark the first Marcus Amphitheater concert for many of these younger Summerfest attendees.  Tonight the Jonas Brothers perform.

As I get ready to take my daughter to her first concert, unless you count The Wiggles concert a few years ago, I think about how many other young girls will be at the Amphitheater tonight; many holding their mother’s hand, many stopping to buy their first concert T-shirt, and many walking into the Marcus Amphitheater for the first time. Their ponytails blowing in the lake breezes, their eyes widened when they see the enormous stage, and big Summerfest smiles on their faces, as they look for their red, yellow, bleacher or lawn seats.

As mothers, we too will be wearing a big smile.  We will delight in this bonding experience with our daughters; a right of passage, taking our child to her first concert.  While we sit in our seats waiting for the show to begin, we will all reflect, if even for a brief moment, on our first concert experience.

Whether it was Bobby Sherman, David Cassidy, Donny Osmond, or any of the many other teen idols on Tiger Beat posters that adorned our bedroom walls, we too once upon a time, went to our first concert.  We’ll think about how excited we were to actually see our idol in person.  We were not listening to our hi-fis play scratchy 45s or 8-track tapes that we saved enough money to buy at Musicland.  No, we were hearing our Tiger Beat picture sing live.

We will imagine what our mothers were thinking as they watched us sing and dance along to our idols on stage.  Did they pull earplugs out of their Coach or Etienne Aigner purses?  Did they really want to listen to the music or were they there just to accompany their daughters?

Then as the walls of the Marcus Amphitheater come alive with music, we will be snapped back into the present.  Moms will dig through their Coach or Vera Bradley purses pulling out earplugs.  We will put them in to help mute the noise, whether it is to help us ignore the music or to help drown out the screams coming from all the pre-teen and teenage girls.  The noise will be deafening and smiles will abound.  Each one of us will look around at the sea of mothers and daughters in the Amphitheater.  We will all realize that we have become our mothers and we now know what their sentiments were when they took us to our first concert.  We hope that our girls will one day be able to share this same experience with their daughters.

After the last encore is played, the sea of mothers and daughters will disburse. We will re-join the other Summerfest patrons.  Girls will be proudly wearing their concert T-shirt and each saying, “this was the best concert ever.”

When it’s time to leave for the evening, young and old will walk out the center white Mid-Gate, each person sporting a big Summerfest smile.   The last Summerfest smile for 2008.

Yes, I know that the outcome of the game has implications for the World Series, but these All-Stars are there to play for the love of the game.  Rivalries are put aside in favor of good sportsmanship.  Yankees will play along side Red Soxs and Brewers will play on the same team as Cubs’ players.

Some of the players on the American League and National League rosters were lucky enough to make it directly into the Major Leagues.  Others had to come up through the farm system.  Each of these players showed that year after year he was learning more and able to move up in the ranks.  For these former double A and triple A players, not only was it an honor to make it to the Major Leagues, but then to be named an All-Star, well, that’s a Major League dream come true.

In the stands of this Mid-Summer Classic, most fans will also display good sportsmanship.  They will cheer for the All-Stars, regardless of the team the All-Star regularly plays for.  While there will be some fans at the game solely for the prestige of attending an All-Star game, others will be sitting in Yankee Stadium watching the game, for the love of baseball.

As the Major League Baseball season goes into the bottom half of the season, the Nicolet Rec Department’s Parent Pitch Softball League is in the bottom of the ninth inning of its season.

Far away from the House That Ruth built, young boys and girls take to the sandlot at Parkway School.  Some came directly into the Parent Pitch League while others came up from the T-ball league.  Being able to hit the ball after the pitcher throws it and not off a T stand, that’s the beginning of Major League dreams.

Boys and girls of different ages, sizes and abilities all playing side by side; each cheering on their fellow teammates when one is at bat.  Every child is allowed to run around all three bases and then run to home plate.  In the outfield, you might see a group of kids all racing for the ball.  Kids give other teammates the ball so all have a chance to throw the ball back to the parent pitcher.  Nobody is a ball hog.

It doesn’t matter if you have a friend on the opposing team.  Friends cheer on friends, regardless if they play for the Sharks, Tigers, or Fireballs.  At the end of every game each player gives a high five to every member of the opposing team.  Boys and girls are taught and show good sportsmanship.

Even though some of these boys and girls are more interested in picking dandelions or playing in the dirt, others already have the stance of a future Ryan Braun or throw like a young Ben Sheets.  Yet they all have one thing in common.   All are there to have fun and to play for the love of the game.

In the stands, most parents also display good sportsmanship.  Parents cheer on all the batters, even if their child’s team isn’t at bat.  Parents volunteer to help the kids with their swings or they assist as base coaches.

Sadly, while sitting on the bleachers of the sandlot, I’ve overheard a few parents yelling at the coaches.  Some parents were even saying that the children are not learning the game because each child bats until he or she hits the ball.  For these parents, my suggestion would be that you do not sign your child up for this league next year.  These are young children having fun.  Restrain your own competitiveness and teach your children the virtures of being a good sport, while leading by example.

Yes, our sons and daughters are learning the game.  In fact, they are learning three of the most important rules of the game.  They learn teamwork, good sportsmanship, and to play for the love of the game.  With these three values, they cannot strike out.

As a Brownie Troop leader, I know that it sometimes can be challenging to lead young children but I also know that it has its rewards.  Watching them learn, mature, and have fun makes the occasional headache seem insignificant.

I’ll speak for all of the parents of the children in the Parent Pitch Softball League (or at least those of us not yelling at the volunteer coaches) when I say “thank you” to the coaches and other volunteers. Thank you for teaching our children, giving them a chance to have fun, and most of all giving them the opportunity to have Major League dreams that one day they might become the next Cory Hart.  With the time and dedication that you have shown, you have made this season a home run.

The playground, one of the joys of being a child.  Monkey bars, teeter-totters, swings, and maybe even a sandbox; when I was young, these were the staples of the park playground. The playground was a place to socialize, have fun, and use “outside” voices.  It was at the playground that we, as kids, also learned valuable lessons.  Always let the kid bigger than you skip the line so he can go down the slide first.  Never wear a dress while hanging upside down on the monkey bars.  Don’t take your shoes off to go barefoot on hot asphalt – OUCH!

McGovern Park seemed so far from our house in Glendale but really it was just a short distance west on Silver Spring Drive.  This park was my parent’s park of choice, that is when we went to the park.  Being that my Dad didn’t like crowds, we didn’t go to the park often, but when we did, it was an event.  In the green Coleman cooler, my Mom would pack sandwiches along with chips, and fruit cut into slices that turned brown from the summer heat.  Kool-Aid was poured from a harvest gold insulated jug.  After we ate, my brother and I had all afternoon to play on the playground.

Even though we didn’t often go to the park playground, my brother and I had our own playground, the backyard.  In our backyard we had a metal playset.  It was metal painted white with accents of red, blue, yellow, and rust from too many Wisconsin winters.  In the center of the playset were two swings, one with a red plastic seat and one with a blue plastic seat.  Both hung from rusted chain links.  On the right side was a teeter-totter with yellow plastic seats and on the left side, a shiny silver metal slide.

It was on our playground that we spent many summer days.  It was on our playground that we learned valuable lessons.  Holding onto rusted chain links while on the swings will turn your hands orange.  Sitting on a teeter-totter when one person (me) weighs much more than the other doesn’t make for a fun teeter-totter experience.  Wearing a bathing suit while sliding down a shiny silver slide that has been in the direct path of the sun is very painful – OUCH!

Today’s park playgrounds are much different.  The shiny silver metal slide has been replaced by an enclosed yellow plastic twisting slide.  The rusted metal playset has given way to weather resistant wood, and the traditional chain links are now coated in yellow plastic.  No doubt, the play structures of today with their red, yellow, and blue canopied forts, mini zip lines, and psuedo rock climbing walls only enhance the playground fun.

Driving throughout the North Shore you can see backyards taken up by smaller versions of the wooden park playset.  Kids with these wooden playsets have a playground right in their backyards.

Our Glendale backyard isn’t big enough to accommodate a wooden playset.  That is unless I want kids jumping from the fort trying to land on our deck or if I want to see kids attempting to jump up to use the power lines as a zip line.  So for our daughter, it’s the park playground.

The North Shore is full of wonderful park playgrounds.  Ellsworth Park in Bayside has a great new playground.  Kletzsch Park in Glendale is a Milwaukee County park.  It's a much larger park but it has a nice small playground.  Both parks have picnic facilities and plenty of fun to keep the kids busy.

However, my daughter’s playground of choice is Klode Park in Whitefish Bay.  This large picturesque park overlooking Lake Michigan combines the new and old.  A big sandbox and a teeter-totter sit along side a massive wooden play structure complete with a plastic slide and mini zip line.  Next to the sandbox stands a large metal frame which holds four swings that hang from traditional chain links.  With plenty of picnic tables, immense open green space, and restrooms, it’s the perfect place for a family outing.

Whether it’s a Milwaukee County Park or a municipal park, enjoy your park of choice.  Our North Shore community as well as Milwaukee County is filled with wonderful green spaces.  Spend a nice warm summer day taking advantage of these parks and their playgrounds.  Who knows, maybe you will even see someone pulling a sandwich from a green Coleman cooler or pouring Kool-Aid from a harvest insulated gold jug.  It might just remind you of your childhood.

Summer camp, one of the joys of a child’s summer vacation.  Summer camp, the opportunity to get dirty and not have your Mom upset that your white T-shirt is now gray.  Summer camp, the place where you are put in color-coded groups based on your swimming ability.  Summer camp is something that all children should experience, at least once.

For the balance of the week they will be known as Monkey and Apple Bottom.

Today at 7:45am Monkey and her friend Apple Bottom were dropped off at Indian Hill School to board the bus.  A bus full of girls with backpacks, water bottles and happy faces.  Girls ready to sing songs, swim, and make macramé bracelets.  A bus full of girls headed to Camp Silverbrook, the Girl Scout day camp in West Bend.

As soon as they got off the bus, the girls were divided into units.  Now assigned to a unit, Sunshine, the counselor, told the girls that their first activity would be to make an ID necklace with their chosen camp name.  This camp name would become their new identity for their week at Camp Silverbrook.  Monkey and Apple Bottom were the names chosen by my daughter and her friend.  Okay, I’m really not sure why Monkey’s friend chose the name Apple Bottom, but I do have to assume it has some meaning.

Monkey, well that was an easy choice.  Monkey is always jumping and climbing in the trees of our yard or hanging upside down on the monkey bars at the playground.  Silverback Gorilla has even nicknamed his daughter, Little Monkey.

As first-time campers, Monkey and Apple Bottom experienced many of the fun activities that camp offers. Today the girls partook in their first camp flag ceremonies.  Traditional Girl Scout ceremonies for the raising and lowering of Old Glory.  Apple Bottom, Monkey, and friends also swam, made magnifying glasses from plastic cups and used them to examine the foliage and insects found on their nature hike.

At 4:40pm, Apple Bottom’s Mom picked up the girls from the bus stop and Monkey was driven home to the primate house.  I admit that I was nervously awaiting her arrival home.  Did she have a good time?  Would she want to go back?

As soon as Mrs. Apple Bottom’s mini-van pulled onto our driveway, Monkey informed  Silverback Gorilla and me, that for the week, we are to call her Monkey.  Apparently I am now the Zoo Keeper of the primate house.  Seeing Monkey’s legs smudged with dirt, her white T-shirt now gray, and pony tail now disheveled, we didn’t have to ask if she had a good time, the answer was obvious.

Sand.  That was the one thing that the Zoo Keeper forgot from her days at Girl Scout camp.  Apparently when I told Monkey to take her shoes off when she got in the house, I forgot to mention not to dump all the sand on the floor.  Tonight I am busy washing sand out of a bathing suit and mopping up the sandy beach that is now on our foyer floor.  It's also a night of vacuuming up sand tracked throughout the house by the Silverback Gorilla and his daughter.  Monkey see, Monkey do.

Tomorrow morning I’ll make a bag lunch for Monkey and as I do so, I’ll remember my days at Girl Scout camp.  What will the girls do today?  Will they make a sit upon, learn to shoot a bow and arrow, tye-dye a pillowcase, or drink bug juice and eat s’mores?

As Silverback Gorilla and Monkey leave for the bus stop, I’ll take a second to think back on my bus rides to camp.

John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt, that’s my name too . . .

Some call it a rummage sale, garage sale, yard sale or tag sale but let’s just call it what it really is.  It’s the "I’m cleaning out my basement and I’m going to sell you all the junk that I don’t want anymore" sale.

A few weeks ago a friend told me that she was going to have a rummage sale, so without hesitation I told her to count me in.  This was the perfect reason to begin the basement clean up.  That clean up that I’ve been meaning to get to but yet seems to be put off and off and off . . .

Last week I spent my nights digging out the treasures that I was finally willing to part with.  There were the picture frames received as gifts from people that apparently didn’t know that my taste in décor is not country.  There were the remaining unbroken glasses that my husband and I received as a gift when we were married over seventeen years ago.  Also, there were clothes and plenty of them.  Clothes now four sizes too small for my daughter.  Old clothes of mine, now four sizes too big; too big to keep even for a “fat day”.

This past Saturday a five family rummage sale was held in Bayside.  The new, I know that I’ll wear it one-day shirt with the tags still on it was sold along with old cassette tapes and the buy one get one free food choppers and mops bought at the Wisconisn State Fair.  Those State Fair items that we all buy, use once, and then toss into the basement. The driveway was lined with rows and rows of treasures that were taken out of five basements.  Five basements with newly cleared shelves. 

I don’t begrudge anyone from shopping at a rummage sale.  Some do it for the thrill of the hunt, others shop for a son or daughter going to college, and some shop rummage sales for economic reasons.  Whatever the reason for going to a rummage sale, there is a group of many rummagers who have one trait in common.  It’s been years since I had a rummage sale and I forgot about this one trait of many rummage sale shoppers.  They don’t realize that it is called a rummage sale.

Yes, I understand that I am ridding myself and my house of unwanted items but I am selling them to you.  If I wanted to give the stuff away, I would give it to a worthy charity and take a tax write-off.

Yes, I quickly remembered that part of the rummage sale process is bargaining.  People, you are going to a rummage sale, not to a market in Mexico.

No, you cannot pick flowers out of the garden to put in the vase that you just bought for fifty cents.  No, I will not take half off the coffee mug that is marked twenty-five cents.  What??  That would make it twelve and one-half cents.  Hmmm  . . . let me guess, I’ll need to round that down for you.  No, we don’t have a return policy if your husband doesn’t like the skirt you just bought.  People, this is a rummage sale, not the mall!

If you are not going to spend a few cents for a cup of lemonade from the lemonade stand that my daughter and her friends set up at the end of the driveway, don’t ask me if I have a bottle of water because you are hot and thirsty.  But since this is a sale and you like to haggle, let’s make a deal.  I’ll give you a bottle of water, wait, I’ll even toss in the cooler and whatever else is in it, and the twelve and one-half cents coffee mug in exchange for the blue Mini Cooper convertible that you just got out of.  Deal?

I know that I might sound agitated and seem like I have a problem with people that haggle for a bargain but I don’t.  I am proud of the five-dollar big blue glass pitcher that I schlepped back from a market in Tijuana.  My issue is with those who get carried away with the haggling process.  If you want one dollar off the suitcase that was shot put onto the conveyor belt by many baggage handlers throughout the years, just ask nicely and you will get that dollar off the marked price.

If you are at a rummage sale and see a fellow rummager being unreasonable, stop and tell him or her to be realistic and remember that this is a sale.  Tell him or her that this behavior casts a negative image on all rummagers.  If you are a bargain hunter, great.  If you are asking for a freebie, remember it’s a sale, even if it’s a sale of my old junk.

After the rummage sale on Saturday, I went to Bayshore Town Center to spend some of my rummage sale earnings.  I wanted a new set of wine glasses for an upcoming party that I am having.  My husband asked what I am going to do with the set of mismatched wine glasses that we currently have.  Well, they are off to sit on a newly cleared shelf in the basement.  They will stay there until it’s time for another "clean out the basement" sale.

I love to cook.  I love good food.  I even love to read cookbooks.  Yes, I admit it, I am a foodie.

So as a foodie, how did I spend this past Saturday morning?  I went down to Cathedral Square Park in the East Town area of Milwaukee for the East Town Market and the Battle of the Chefs.

Lining the perimeter of Cathedral Square Park, a wide array of vendors sell everything from farmers market staples such as fruits, vegetables, and flowers, while others sell jewelry, dog treats, and buffalo meat.  Even Sharp Brothers, the Whitefish Bay knife sharpening gurus are there to make sure that your knives are sharp enough to cut through the hardiest of vegetables.

For us foodies, the Battle of the Chefs is as close as we will get to watching a live version of Bravo TV’s Top Chef or the Food Network’s Iron Chef.  This local competition is comprised of four rounds of four chefs with the winner of each round moving onto the final battle. The winner of the final round is honored with the title of being the best chef in East Town.

The competition begins with the host, John McGivern, announcing to the chefs what the secret ingredients will be for that particular round of competition.  This past Saturday those secret ingredients were duck, honey, jicama, and kiwi.  The chefs and their sous chefs then have fifteen minutes to spend their given stipend in the market to buy whatever else they need to create their culinary masterpieces.  Forty-five minutes later these culinary creations are presented to a panel of four judges for tasting, after which a winner is announced.

This got me thinking, what if the North Shore had a culinary contest among its best chefs.  Who would slice out the competition and whose thoughts of being the North Shore’s best chef would be charred?  With wonderful restaurants in our community, it would be hard to choose not only the competitors but also the winner.  Chefs from Jack Pandl’s in Whitefish Bay, Devon and Ovations in Glendale, the North Shore Bistro in Fox Point, and the Riversite in Mequon would all be deserving participants.

The Town Square at Bayshore Town Center would be a perfect venue for such an event.  It offers plenty of space for the chefs and spectators, as well as nearby shopping at Trader Joe’s.

The sounds of sizzling food, the sights of the culinary masterpieces coming to life, and the aromas of fragrant herbs permeating the air, what a wonderful way to spend a sunny summer Saturday morning.  Okay, I know that not everyone would enjoy this type of event but for us foodies, this would be the icing on the cake.

Chefs, think about it.  Maybe you’ll be the North Shore’s best chef.  The timer is ticking away and believe it or not, next June will be here sooner than you think.  So let’s whip up some support and get this idea cooking.

Bon appétit!

If you go:  The fourth round of the East Town Battle of the Chefs will be held on August 23rd and the final round of competition with the winner being named will be on September 6th.  The battles begin at 10:30am.

Memories of our younger days; we recall the carhop attaching a metal tray to the car window at the A&W.  We remember drinking a frosty root beer float out of the heavy glass mug emblazoned with the orange, brown and white A&W logo.  We reflect on those days when we didn't listen to digital music from an ipod; instead we put money into the jukebox that played scratchy 45s.  It was a time when Johnny Carson was the only king of late night TV.  Those were happy days.

Happy Days have come back to Milwaukee, if even for a brief moment.  This week the creator of this classic show, Garry Marshall, and the cast are coming “home” to the city where it all began, Milwaukee.  Unless you have been living under a rock for the past year, you know that Milwaukee is honoring Henry Winker with a bronze statue; a statue of the Fonz.

Everyone seems to have his or her opinion on this statue.  In fact, this might be only second to the Brett Favre saga in terms of drawing lines in the sand as to what people think.  Some don’t like the artistic nature of the statue, others complained about the location, and some have gone as far as saying that there shouldn’t even be a statue.  To those people I’ll quote the Fonz and say, “sit on it.”

We need to look beyond the bronze Fonz.  Whether you are from South Milwaukee, West Allis, the East side or the North Shore, we are all Milwaukeeans and call this city “home”.  It’s not just about the statue; it’s about what the statue represents and what it does for our community, our “home”.

So what if people will stand if front of it with their thumbs up and say “ayyyyyyy” as friends snap pictures.  Plenty of people run up the steps of the Philadelphia Art Museum to imitate Rocky.  There is even a Rocky statue in Philadelphia.  Why is the Fonz an issue?  Again, “sit on it.”

This statue will bring visitors to our city.  They will see all that Milwaukee has to offer.  They will see that this city is much more than was depicted in the TV show.  Visitors will shop in our stores, eat in our restaurants and enjoy their happy days here in Milwaukee, home of the Fonz.

As baby boomers we vividly remember wearing black and white saddle shoes like Joanie did (albeit mine were always tan and brown).  We recall a time when most teenagers were polite and mannerly, like Richie and Potsie.  Mr. and Mrs. C would never have tolerated anything but good manners.  It was a time when we watched Captain Kangaroo on the black and white console television in the living room.  We watched television as a family, like the Cunninghams.

Growing up, Tuesday nights were dedicated to watching Happy Days.  As a family we would sit in front of the color console TV to watch Richie, Potsie, Ralph, and of course, the Fonz.  How many times would Fonzie snap his fingers to get a girl? How many times would he hit the jukebox to get it to play a favorite song?  We were a family in Milwaukee watching a television show about a family in Milwaukee.  It was as if the Cunninghams were our next-door neighbors.

The old console TV with a bulging screen and one speaker has been replaced with a sleek flat panel TV and sound system.  Gone is one channel airing Happy Days on Tuesday nights.  Now it can be found on many of the hundreds of channels and can be seen at various hours throughout the day.  Times might change but something that has remained constant is the laughs that Happy Days brings to all that watch it.

I will admit that if I am channel surfing and see Happy Days listed on the on-screen guide, I will click on it and watch.  Will it be an episode with Arnold or Al? Is Chachi in love with Joanie?  Is it an episode WC (with Chuck) or AC (after Chuck)?  I guess I’ll have to watch and see.

My daughter frequently asks me what things were like in the “olden” days.  Yes, the “olden” days, those days when I was young.  Old, great!  I’m almost forty-four and my daughter is equating me with dinosaurs roaming the earth.  Sit on it, kid.  This bronze statue of Arthur Fonzarelli, the girl chasing mechanic with a heart of gold is not only a symbol of our past but it’s a gateway to the future.

With this statue’s presence in our city we will be able to teach future generations about our city’s history and also teach today’s youth about the pop culture icons that we admired in our younger days, the “olden” days.

2 Pink erasers   

10 plain folders

4 Large glue sticks     got 2, need 2

Yes, Labor Day is almost here and that means that it’s back to school time.  Frankly, I think a better name for this season should be “pillaging season”.  As parents of school-age children, we become like pirates in search of precious treasures. 

Armed with our treasure hunt map (the school supply list) in hand, we go out in search of the loot that has been buried all summer. The one gem that keeps escaping me, the large glue stick.  Wherever I go, I see plenty of small glue sticks but my daughter’s treasure hunt map says that we need the large size sticks.  Shiver me timbers!

The no longer in business Treasure Island with its squiggly roof was the place that my Mom went to get the booty for my brother and me.  Its school supply aisles always had the goods.  Notebooks, the 96 count Crayolas with the built-in sharpener, and lunchboxes, Peanuts, The Jungle Book, or Hot Wheels; Treasure Island had it all.  I never recall my Mom complaining that the aisles were already pilfered when she got there.

Yes, I know that there are plenty of stores that sell school supplies.  Don’t think that I haven’t been to all of them in pursuit of two more large glue sticks, because I have.  After running around from store to store, I can proudly say that my daughter will go back to school with the required four large glue sticks.  I had no choice but to search for them.  It was large glue sticks or walk the plank.

Go ahead; tell me “why don’t you start shopping earlier?”  Yes, I know that Target puts their back to school supplies out around the Fourth of July, as I am sure many of the other stores do.  Oh joy, that’s what I want to do, start school supply shopping in the middle of summer.  Yippee, I can buy twenty #2 pencils at the same time that I am buying red, white, and blue plates and napkins for my Fourth of July BBQ.  Even if I did start shopping that early, my luck would be that we would be asked to get forty #2 pencils.  Yes, here it is on my list for this fall, forty #2 pencils - sharpened.  Add to list, electric pencil sharpener. 

I didn’t even get the school supply list until I went to registration a couple of weeks ago, so how could I have begun to shop?  Okay, maybe the list of goods was handed out at the end of last school year which, of course, would have allowed me to begin shopping earlier, if I wanted to; but if it was given to me, I lost it.  Okay, my fault for losing it (if it was even given to me) but what is the school doing handing out a school supply list in June for supplies that are not needed until September?  What were they thinking, of course the list will get lost.

Like the days of one-stop shopping at Treasure Island, the school district now gives us a one-stop shopping opportunity; School-Pak.  It’s the service that delivers all the required school supplies and even a backpack right to your front door.  It’s quick, it’s easy, but it’s no fun.  School-Pak erases the fun of school supply shopping, even if it means going from store to store in search of the elusive large glue stick.  It takes away the fun of choosing which notebooks to buy; High School Musical or Hello Kitty.  School-Pak, I’d rather walk the plank.

I remember my brother and I playing Rock’em Sock’em Robots. No, not the game where plastic figures boxed each other; we were the robots, always trying to kill each other.  Memories of Rock’em Sock’em Robots, The American Flag on the nineteen inch television screen at sign-off, and Halloween costumes with plastic masks having edges sharp enough to slice your face; memories that all come back in The Wonderbread Years.

Former Seinfeld writer Pat Hazell shares with us his childhood memories in this two-hour production.  However, it’s John McGivern who transforms Hazell’s memories and makes them his own.  McGivern shares with us his favorite show and tell items, he reminds us of his friends with whom he went trick-or-treating, and he gives us a glimpse of his family with slides of his brothers, sisters, and even Aunt LuAnn.

Before the show begins, we are treated a brief film to start the reminiscing.  The NBC Peacock in Living Color, Speedy the Alka-Seltzer mascot, and Slinky, the wonderful toy are just some of the images that run across the screen giving the audience a preview of what is to come.

From the moment that he first appears on stage wearing a gas station attendant’s jacket, we all immediately think of the Texaco red star and a time when gas station attendants were there to check your oil and pump gas into your Oldsmobile Delta 88.

McGivern gives us a chance to laugh and plenty of chances there are.  More importantly he gives us a chance to remember; a chance to remember those years of wonder, discovery, and innocence.  These were The Wonderbread Years.  Several times throughout the show the audience could be seen nodding their heads in agreement along with the collective sighs of “I remember that”.

As an audience we collectively relieve our sugar-coated youths.  That white goddess with whom we grew up.  Sugar in our candy, sugar over our corn flakes, and yes, even sugar on our bread.

McGivern's interplay with the audience was a perfect way to let us briefly share our memories.  The search for a plastic egg shaped coin purse and a plastic rain bonnet brought arms waiving in the air, each person eager to show off these items.  I must admit that I still have a clear plastic rain bonnet with blue and red polka dots that my Grandmother gave me to wear on rainy days.  It's still neatly folded, never worn.

For those who maybe averse to seeing a play take note that The Wonderbread Years is much more. It’s a trip down memory lane for us baby boomers.  Parents and their teenage children shared the laughs together.  Teenagers laughing at their parents’ childhood.  They wonder how we ever survived without computers, ipods, and cable television.

One man taking all of us on a journey into the past, that’s time well spent.  For those of us whose childhood memories surrounded a white plastic bag with red, yellow, and blue polka dots, The Wonderbread Years is a little slice of heaven.

If you go:  The Wonderbread Years is running through September 21st in Vogel Hall at the Marcus Center for the Performing Arts. Tickets may be purchased through the Marcus Center Box Office (414-273-7206) or through Ticketmaster.    

Well we’ve made it through the first week of school.  All the supplies were brought to school, including the four large glue sticks so I didn’t have to walk the plank.  We’ve met the teachers and begun to see that homework gets done.  Yet there is one thing that didn’t happen during the first week of school – lunch.

Don’t get me wrong; my daughter, Monkey, ate lunch last week but today marks the first lunch this year that she would bring from home.  In school lingo this is referred to as “cold” lunch.  The other noontime option of course being, “hot” lunch.  “Hot” lunch is that that cafeteria ritual of having a semi-lukewarm piece of breaded chicken-like substance known as “mystery meat” flung onto your plastic tray by a lunch lady wearing a hairnet, white apron, and a look on her face for which Botox could do wonders.

Of course, last night I could have taken a look at the yellow lunch menu posted on the side of our refrigerator to determine if today would be a “hot” or “cold” lunch day but that would have been too easy and practical.  So this morning as I was getting ready for work and eating my bowl of Honey Smacks (really the old Sugar Smacks but now healthier sounding with honey in the name), I scurried around the kitchen to make her first “cold” lunch of the year.  My first thought, thankfully I went to the grocery store over the weekend!

This year I vowed that “cold” lunch would be better than the ones that Monkey brought to school last year.  Okay, I’m a gourmet cook; I can do this.  I can be creative with lunches.  Can I?

I thought back to my school lunches; what did my Mom pack for my brother and me?  Sadly, I don’t remember much about my school lunches, which when you think about it is pretty ironic since as a kid I was slightly chunky and loved lunchtime, I got to eat.

I remember two of my lunchboxes, a metal Jungle Book lunchbox with lime green trim around the edges and a lime green plastic handle.  Also, there was the yellow plastic Snoopy lunchbox with Snoopy sitting on top of his doghouse.

Hmmmm . . .

What else did my Mom put in my lunchbox?  Chips and a Twinkie plus the occasional piece of fruit.  Does this help to explain why I was slightly chunky?

As I put my empty cereal bowl in the dishwasher and looked at the clock, I had to quickly decide what to make Monkey for lunch today.  I took out her new lunch bag because now as a second grader she informed me that she is too old to carry last year's Disney Princess lunchbox.  In her new big second grader lunch bag from a store at Bayshore that I won’t mention by name at the risk of sounding elitist, which I have previously been accused of (it’s the one across from the fountain that sells fabric handbags), I started to pack her first “cold” lunch of the school year.

At the bottom, a blue cold pack.  Good, that’s a start.  I think she needs a sandwich.  Peanut butter, no jelly - that sounds good . . . chips . . .this is sounding familiar, isn’t it?  Time to add an apple and an individual size bag of cookies to round out her lunch.  So much for creativity.

Thankfully Monkey is far from being slightly chunky so I don’t feel so bad about what I gave her to eat.  Plus, this lunch does have some health benefits.  Peanut butter is protein and it was on wheat bread for fiber.  Also, the apple is a good choice, right?

Tonight I guess I’ll have to check the yellow lunch menu to see if it’s “hot” or “cold” lunch tomorrow.  Oh wait, that would be too easy and practical.  I’ll just have to wait until tomorrow morning when I finish my bowl of Honey Combs to make that peanut butter sandwich. 

Last Monday marked the first “cold” lunch of the school year.  There was even a second “cold” lunch last week too, a peanut butter sandwich, of course.  Some how last week became a week of “firsts”.  Another “first” of the school year also took place last week, last Tuesday to be exact.  However this “first” was not met with the same anticipation as making a lunch.  This “first” was met with disgust, a full bottle of Tide, and the uttering of a few four-letter words.

When Monkey started school my biggest fear was that she would get conjunctivitis, more commonly known as pink eye. Okay, I’ll be honest and say that my biggest fear was that I would get this disgusting condition where your eye oozes and is crusted shut.  Yes, I know that this is revolting but it’s true, this is what happens when you have pink eye.  How do I know this?  Well, lets just say that I’ve had conjunctivitis more time than I care to count.  I am so susceptible to it that if you are reading this blog and have pink eye, some how by osmosis I will get it.

In hindsight, what’s a little pink in the eye?  It’s nothing compared to what I faced last Tuesday.  It was Pam versus the lice.  Yes, I did say lice and trust me this is more disgusting than anything oozing out of my eyes.  Those little white dandruff like bugs that cling to the scalp, they were the enemy.

Actually they were the enemy of many families last week.  Parkway School had a lice epidemic.  All four hundred-plus kids were checked for these microscopic creatures and the school nurse found them on many a head.  Home from school Monkey was sent.  Oh joy!

How could this be?  How could Monkey have head lice?  She is clean and my house is immaculate.  I was informed that these pests favor clean environments.  Great, now having a clean house and maintaining good hygiene is an issue.  I guess I’ll sell my stock in Dial Soap and S.C. Johnson.

Let me just take a moment to thank my Mom for picking Monkey up at school, going to the drugstore to buy the insect killing shampoo (which by the way was strong enough to start peeling off my strawberry margarita colored nail polish), and for beginning the clean-up process.

So, if you’ve had the pleasure of experiencing this fun clean up, I accept your empathy.  A lice free house, consider yourself lucky.  Those four-letter words I told you about, it was about this time that I began to sound less than lady-like in my speech.  The entire house needed to be scrubbed from top to bottom, no corner undone as these creatures can creep around and take up residence just about anywhere.  My house was now the Lice Hilton.  Laundry, laundry and more laundry, everything gets washed; bedding, clothes, washable toys.  If there is a chance that Monkey or her hairbrush came in contact with it, it got sent to the washer and dryer.

The school nurse even makes house calls to pick the nits out the infested hair.  Monkey’s hair is naturally light blond, unlike mine which is, well  . . . my hair is blond too. Finding little white things in blond hair, not easy but the nurse did it.   Now given a clean bill of health, Monkey was able to return to school on Wednesday.  I also asked to have my blond hair checked.  I was lice free.

By the time I climbed into bed that night, the bottle of Tide was almost empty and the disgust turned to victory.  I conquered the enemy.  I just wish that the strawberry margarita that came off my nails had turned into the real thing.

We all have names; it’s what defines us.  Our name tells people who we are and it can give clues as to our heritage, religion, and maybe even our personality (think about the names Mortimer and Hazel), but what if our name was changed.  What impact would it have on us?  Of course there is the obvious, getting accustomed to being called by the new name but how would a new name affect our personality?

A couple of days ago I was talking my friend, Sandy, who grew up in Milwaukee but now lives in Orlando, Florida.  I told her that Monkey is taking ballet classes at the Milwaukee Ballet School, which is located in the lower level of Riverpoint in Fox Point.  Riverpoint?  How could she not know where Riverpoint is?  Ahhh . . . Brown Port.  The place where we went bowling and to the movies is now home to Best Buy, Borders, and a half dozen restaurants.  While it has a new façade and the name has changed, the memories of gutter balls and large buckets of popcorn will always be at Brown Port.  I admit, I occasionally still refer to Riverpoint as Brown Port.  I guess some habits are hard to break.

I then told Sandy that my husband and I were having dinner on Saturday night in the Third Ward.  In a warehouse, she wondered.  Even though the name Third Ward has remained the same, its character has grown.  No longer is it lined with warehouses for fruit and vegetable wholesalers.  The Third Ward has grown up.  Now home to restaurants, lofts, offices, theatres, shops, and spas, the Third Ward is an essential and vibrant part of our city.  It’s the place that we want visitors to see, a gem in the heart of Milwaukee.  The Third Ward shows us that as we grow our name can remain the same but over time our personality can change.

A name and character change come together in the North Shore’s version of the Third Ward.  The once lackluster, aging, and ugly Bayshore Mall has been replace by another jewel to be proud of, the upscale Bayshore Town Center.  Spas, stores, restaurants, offices and apartments make up this lively and sophisticated suburban hub.  A Town Center is a name truly fitting for its new style and personality.

In a time of growth and revitalization for our city, new names bring new life.  While our old memories of fond places still remain, new memories will be created as the façades and personalities of aging places undergo facelifts.

In thirty years from now, what will Bayshore Town Center be called?  The Bayshore Biosphere?  Will Monkey and her friend Apple Bottom reminisce about their days of gutter balls and large bags of popcorn at IPic, like Sandy and I recall our days at Brown Port?  Time will tell.

. . . or is that Clothes Monkey?

Fall is finally in the air.  Cooler temperatures, falling leaves, shorter days all mean one thing for a clothes horse, a new wardrobe.  Our extended warm weather of the past couple of weeks played havoc with the notion of back to school clothes.

When I was a child my Grandparents would take their little clothes horse shopping for back to school clothes.  Actually this ritual occurred all throughout my days in school, including college and law school.  Taking me shopping was a joy that they looked forward to every fall.

In my younger days they would take me to Bayshore, that was back in the day when it was an outdoor mall.  There we would shop at Sears and Mansfield’s.  Mansfield’s, the store we would go to for “dress” clothes.  No matter what you size, Mansfield’s had it.  They even had a department for girls like me who were slightly chunky.  They called it the “plus size” department.  Great, I was shopping in the “plus sizes”.  Pluses are good; an A+ in school or a plus size banana split, but “plus size” clothes.  What’s the “plus”?  Fat.  A “plus size” kid was a fat kid, so “plus size” clothes, clothes with more material to cover us fat kids.

Another store with a “plus size” department for us slightly chunky (fat) girls was Sears.  Here’s where my Grandparents would take me to buy “play” clothes.  Here I would get my industrial strength Toughskins, my favorite being the purple denim bellbottoms.  Also from Sears I bought my winter parka.  It was always an Eskimo style parka with big round buttons on a placket that covered the zipper, a fur-trimmed hood, and a pocket for a pen on the sleeve.  This too was purple.  I looked like a cross between Nanook of the North and the Purple People Eater!

It was always a thrill to wear my new back to school clothes and Mother Nature never interfered with my ability to wear them.  The first day of school always meant new clothes regardless if the temperature outside was eighty degrees or fifty degrees; but then again, we never wore shorts and T-shirts to elementary school.

My Mom is carrying on the tradition of her parents and two weekends ago she took Monkey shopping for back to school clothes.  Stylish low-rise jeans have replaced the industrial strength Toughskins.  Mansfield’s is long gone but there are several stores at the once again outdoor Bayshore Town Center, stores that meet the needs of an eight-year old fashionista.

Okay, so here was the problem; Grandma bought the clothes but Mother Nature prevented Monkey from wearing them.  This past week was too warm for Monkey to wear her new jeans and sweaters.  As the zookeeper, I had to tell my clothes horse (or is that clothes Monkey) that she would still be wearing shorts and short sleeves to school, attire that is now perfectly acceptable to wear to elementary school. The idea of wearing the clothes she wore all summer when she has a new fall wardrobe, well that did not make for a happy Monkey.

Mother Nature apparently saw how upset Monkey was and the battle that occurred every morning; sweaters (Monkey) versus short sleeves (Mom the zookeeper). Thankfully, this week Mother Nature has cooperated and cooler temperatures are on the horizon.  Cooler temperatures mean that Monkey’s new clothes will begin to make their debut on the school playground.  Thank you Mother Nature.  I again have a happy Monkey.

Every fall the tradition of back to school shopping continues in my family.  My Grandparents took me shopping, my Mom takes Monkey shopping, and I hope that one day I too will be able to carry on this family tradition when I take my grandmonkey shopping for her back to school clothes.   

"Welcome to Culver's."  Her name tag said Kourtney, that's Kourtney with a "K".  Moments later from across the counter she handed me two hot fudge sundaes with bananas.  One had bananas neatly arranged around the cup, the other had bananas all lumped together on the right side.  A lump.  How did Kourtney with a "K" know about the lump?

Thursday April 24^th, 2008, started out as a nice sunny spring day, not a cloud in the sky.  My very dear friend, John, came to pick me up at work so that we could have lunch together.  As usual, we went to the Charcoal Grill where we enjoyed a heaping order of nachos, along with Diet Cokes.  The nachos were topped with two mounds, one smooth sour cream, and the other lumpy guacamole.  At lunch we talked about the lump.  What would become of the lump?  How would the lump affect me?  On this sunny spring day, life was good.  We talked, we ate, and tears; they were tears of laughter.

After a fun filled lunch, John drove me back to my office.  While we were in the car, the winds picked up and clouds began to appear in the bright blue spring sky.  Was a storm coming?

Around 3:00pm that afternoon, the skies blackened and as the storms came, my cell phone rang.  The perfect spring day was ending.  I looked at the caller id and it was my doctor’s office.  Just days before I endured a lengthy mammogram session; images taken, re-taken, and re-taken again.

“Hello Doctor . . .yes I understand.  How big do you think it is?”  So with the thunder outside, I said, “just to confirm, I’ll be hearing from the specialist tomorrow?”  I hung up.

Standing in front of me was Deb, a co-worker of mine who I confided in, as she was once the victim of the lump, in its most serious form.  Deb was there ready to give me a hug.  While it was raining outside, I was fighting off the rain, rain that would have otherwise fallen from my eyes.

At 4:30pm, I left work.  I would have a half-hour to gain my composure before I had to pick up Monkey from her after school program.  I had a half-hour to make phone calls to form my support group, yet I didn’t want to tell too many people until I had the results back from further testing.

The obvious first call was to my husband who unfortunately would not be home until very late that evening.  I knew whom else I needed to call but making those calls became a bit of a challenge.  I couldn’t call my Mom because she was on her way to the theatre.  Next, would be my friend John with whom hours ago I discussed the lump, but he was in the play that my Mom was going to see.  Well, that just eliminated two calls.  After that would be my friend Caroline with whom I have volunteered at the Race for the Cure.  No, she was at work and I could not disturb her.  Finally, a call that I could make.  I called my close friend, Lori.  As I began to tell her about my conversation with the doctor, rain fell.  Not just outside but also inside the car, rain falling from my eyes and pouring down my cheeks.

I reached Monkey’s after school program.  With rain still coming down my cheeks, I sat in the car, pulling myself together.  I didn’t want Monkey to see me so upset.

After picking up Monkey, we met Lori at Culver's.  I needed to drown my worries in hot fudge.  We didn't talk much abou the lump, again to avoid having Monkey become upset.  Plus, I didn't want it to "rain" inside Culver's.

Kourtney with a "K" handed me two hot fudge sundaes with bananas.  Lori’s had bananas neatly arranged around the cup, mine had bananas lumped together on the right side.  A lump.  How did Kourtney with a "K" know about the lump?

With our stomachs full, Monkey and I went home.  The rain stopped, if only temporarily.  After putting Monkey to bed, I went to bed too. It was an exhausting day and I didn’t have the energy to stay up until my husband got home.  As I laid quietly in bed - crash!  Thunder and rain, both the rain outside and the rain from my eyes returned.  The rain put me to sleep.

The next ten days were the longest days of my life.  It was a waiting game.  Waiting for further testing and results to come back.  Would I fall victim to the lump?

A couple of weeks later, John and I returned to our usual lunch spot and ordered a heaping platter of nachos.  Again the nachos were topped with two mounds, smooth sour cream and lumpy guacamole.  That lumpy guacamole, well, it was okay because not all lumps are bad.

While driving to Minneapolis this past week-end, I was able to admire the beauty of autumn, the changing of the leaves.  Green, yellow, gold, orange, rust, red, and brown leaves made for a beautiful landscape on the long drive up.  Closer to home, the leaves in our area have also begun to change. This will give us many weeks of nature’s beauty to admire.

There is one big problem with the changing of the leaves’ colors, THEY FALL!  This is Mother Nature’s cruel joke.  Obviously, someone didn’t heed the warning that she gave us years ago, “don’t fool Mother Nature.”  If this person was you, and YOU caused her to be upset, I have a bone to pick with you.

If Mother Nature liked us she would pick two days a year when all the leaves would drop.  This would of course be all trees except the stubborn tree in my front yard that seems to never drop its leaves. Let’s just say that we were told on October 16^th and 17^th that all leaves would drop, we could then mark our calendars that on the 18^th we could begin the annual raking process.  We would then have a couple of days to rake or blow the leaves into a pile on the side of the road before a big truck with a super suction vacuum (one that would even make my Dyson say “wow”) comes by to suck them up.  No, instead Mother Nature makes us admire weeks of falling leaves and leaf covered lawns.  We repeatedly need to rake.  This is @#$%^&*(!!!!

Mother Nature’s cruel joke continues as we repeatedly rake or blow the leaves.  Glendale doesn’t pick up bagged leaves so there will be no big plastic pumpkin sitting on my front lawn.  No, we need to put them on the side of the road where they sit until that super vacuum comes.  We hope that by the time we get around to raking the leaves, that we have not missed the last collection date.  Otherwise, there they sit all winter in a snow covered pile until the snow plow scatters them.

Here’s where Mother Nature with her sick sense of humor again decides to have fun with us.  We put the leaves on the side of the road and whoosh, a wind gust comes and blows them right back onto our lawn.  Time to rake again.  If we are lucky, the leaves blow onto our neighbor’s lawn and they become their problem.  HAHA!  Oh wait, that means that their leaves have blown onto our lawn. @#$%!!

So here we are playing a cat and mouse game with Mother Nature; leaves versus winds versus leaf collection pickup dates.  Who wins?  It’s usually a draw.  The City of Glendale gets some of the leaves, except the ones from that tree in the front yard that don’t drop until after the last collection date.

Oh well, as we admire the change in colors during autumn, we know that next year we will once again fall for Mother Nature’s bad joke.

Boo!

Did I scare you?  Halloween, the one-day that young and old dress in costumes and assume an alter ego. The other day I took Monkey to pick out her Halloween costume.  There are so many choices that it’s a bit overwhelming.  Not only overwhelming in terms of what identity to assume for that day but also overwhelming in terms of where to buy a costume.  It seems as though every store now sells Halloween costumes.  Monkey’s store of choice to get her costume, Halloween Express.  The big orange pumpkin sitting in the middle of the parking lot at State Fair Park is undoubtedly a lure to draw kids inside to costume heaven.  It's a place where kids drag their parents so we can easily blow upwards of $35.00 on a costume that our child will wear once, maybe twice.  This place has so many choices as to costumes; even the most finicky child is bound to find an alter ego to assume on Halloween.  Rows and rows of plastic bags containing costumes hung from wire racks lead to cries of “I want to be . . . no, I want to be . . .” As parents, we stand there hope that our kids quickly decide on a costume so we can escape this madness.

When I was a kid there weren't as many choices in Halloween costumes as there seems to be today; clowns, witches, ghosts, cowboys and princesses seemed to be the norm.  We wore a flammable nylon costume with sharp edged plastic mask held on our faces by a giant rubber band that could also double as a sling shot; you know, to fling something at those people that handed out the bad candy; one small Tootsie Roll or some plainly wrapped mystery candy.

Our costumes weren’t sold in fancy Halloween stores.  We bought costumes that came in boxes with a small clear cellophane window so we could see only the mask that peeked through that small window.  We knew it was close to Halloween when we saw those boxes lined up on tables in Woolworth’s.  I was so happy when my Mom took me there to buy me my first boxed costume, a clown costume.

For many years I wore a homemade costume.  It wasn’t that my parents couldn’t afford the store bought costume.  Year after year I was in a homemade costume because my Mom thought it was fun to make a costume and dress me up as a pumpkin.  Thanks Mom.  What was she thinking????

Put your fat kid in a bright orange pumpkin suit and send me out to get more candy.  For years my alter ego was a candy craving fat kid in a pumpkin costume.  Wait a minute . . . that wasn’t an assumed identity just for Halloween; it was reality!  Okay, the only difference between reality and my assumed identity, other days I didn’t wear orange tights and have a stem on top of my head.

I don’t know the last time that I saw a kid in our neighborhood walking around in a homemade pumpkin suit.  Today’s kids can be whatever they want.  From the traditional costumes that we wore to Superheroes, Hannah Montana, SpongeBob, or one of the Cheetah Girls, trick or treat brings candy, fun, and plenty of disguises.

So after looking at what seemed to be hundreds of costume choices inside the large State Fair Park parking lot pumpkin, the madness ended when Monkey finally decided on a costume.  As we walked out, I made a couple of observations.  Halloween is everything to a kid and picking out the perfect costume is part of the fun.  Monkey couldn't wait to tell her friends what her alter ego will be.  Second, I realized that I am part of the madness.  I should have a straight jacket as a costume.  I must be insane.  I am one of those parents who helped stimulate the economy by easily blowing upwards of $35.00 on a costume that will be worn twice.  Oh well, anything for my little Monkey, or should I now say, Batgirl.

Thankfully, she did not ask for a homemade costume.  Why am I so thankful for this?  Because all I would know how to make is a pumpkin costume!

Yes, I know that I’ve said Lakeside Reflections would not be a political blog but with one week left before the election, I thought I should weigh in.  Before you click on the “X” in the upper right corner of your computer screen to close this because you don’t want to hear another person rant on about their political views; just wait.  I’m not going to do that.  Read on and you will hear what I have to say about McCain versus Obama in Prez Battle 2008.

As a Brownie leader, I try to teach the girls about democracy.  They learn about the voting process for important issues such as, where to take a field trip or what to name the troop mascot.  Even though they are eight-year olds, they understand the importance of voting.  Now I just wish they would understand the notion of one vote per person.  But hey, there are some adults that vote multiple times, so expecting eight-year old girls to get this concept just might take some time.

The Brownies are learning that voting is important.  The reason why we vote; two or more candidates are in a battle to see who can be the winner.  It’s up to us, as the voters, to decide the winner.  There are positives and negatives about the candidates and we are all entitled to our opinions.  So that said, let me tell you about something that bugs me about each of the contenders in Prez Battle 2008.

First, let’s start with the Democratic Party’s nominee, Barack Obama.   Change, change, change.  He’s all about change.  Change can be good but how is he going to accomplish changing an entire country?  What’s he going to do, put the country into a giant magician’s hat and abracadabra – CHANGE!   As long as we are not turned into furry white rabbits, I guess change might be okay.  Plus, if he can accomplish quick changes with the help of that giant magician’s hat, I see a bright future for him in Vegas after four or eight years in office.

Onto the other major party candidate, John McCain.  Yes, we all know that he is the candidate that fought for our country.  Thank you Senator McCain.  Also, thank you to all others who have protected and defended our country.  However, there is one thing that I am sick of hearing.  Can you please change your reference to being in the Hanoi Hilton to something else?  As a member of the Hilton Honors Program, I find Hiltons to be nice hotels, especially the Waldorf in New York.  I know the conditions that you were subject to were not even close to being anywhere near the level of a Hilton.

As a kid, my family stayed at Howard Johnson hotels on our annual winter drive to Florida.  Believe me, these were nothing to write home about.  Okay, maybe except for the ice cream in the restaurant, but as far as a hotel, HoJo is no Hilton.  So, how about it?  Let’s change the references of the Hanoi Hilton to the Hanoi HoJo.

So, whom am I voting for?  Well, my candidate of choice has blue signs with white lettering that dot many of the yards throughout our neighborhood.  My candidate of choice has someone on the ticket who has never served as President or Vice-President due to his or her race or gender.  My candidate of choice has someone on the ticket that currently serves in the United States Senate.

Voting is a privilege that is accorded to most citizens eighteen years of age and older.  This is a privilege that should be used.  Get out and vote for your candidate of choice in Prez Battle 2008.  Just remember, the girls in my Brownie troop tend to vote twice in the same election, but you cannot.     

Don’t worry; this is not a change in direction for Lakeside Reflections.  This will not become a political blog.  And that’s one promise you can trust!

What do actor David Schwimmer, Muppet Cookie Monster, Bayshore Town Center, and I all have in common?  Today, we each celebrate a birthday.

I imagine David Schwimmer celebrating with Friends at a big party that we can read about in People.  Cookie Monster, who by the way is my favorite of the Muppet monsters, will spend the day devouring bags of Chips Ahoy cookies.  Bayshore will celebrate its second year since the remodeling by opening up its arms (or should I say doors) to shoppers, inviting them to come and spend money in the fine array of stores that Bayhore has to offer.  As for me, I will be celebrating by taking Monkey to a movie.

Yes, age can cause insanity and at 44, I must be insane.  I am spending my birthday going to see High School Musical 3.  I didn’t take Monkey to see this movie when it opened last week.  Okay, I am a bad parent.   Someone please call the Department of Social Services, my child was neglected.  She had to wait a week to see Sharpay and friends graduate from East High.

Wait a minute . . . high school graduation is in June.  Shouldn’t this movie first be released seven months from now?  I smell a pre-graduation DVD release.  A June release would mean that I wouldn’t be spending my birthday watching Troy breakout into song on the basketball court.

I admit that I would rather be sharing a case of Chips Ahoy with Cookie Monster than going to see High School Musical 3 later today.  But it’s about Monkey, spending quality Mommy-Monkey time together.  It’s about watching her delight in seeing Troy and Gabriella on the big screen.  It’s about sharing a bucket of popcorn with Monkey.

Two hours later, I’ll need some retail therapy to ease the pain of sitting through this movie.  Maybe we’ll head over to the welcoming doors of Bayshore where I can buy something new to wear tonight.

My birthday will end as Silverback Gorilla and I celebrate with friends at dinner tonight followed by some adult entertainment.  NO!!!!! Not that kind of entertainment.  We are visiting the one-armed bandits at Potawatomi.  It’s my birthday.  I should win a jackpot, shouldn’t I?

What will I do next year on my birthday?  Maybe devour a bag of Chips Ahoy, maybe have a party with friends or maybe go shopping.  I’ll spend time with Monkey but I won’t be going to see High School Musical 4.

At 3:30 this morning, I didn’t get upset when I turned on the defroster to clear off the windshield of my car.  It was pitch black outside, the temperature was cold, and the fall air was blowing the remaining leaves off the trees; but all I could envision was warm sunny skies.

With Monkey and the dog off to Camp Granny for the week, my husband,Silverback Gorilla, and I along with our close friends departed chilly Milwaukee at 6:00am this morning for some well deserved and much needed R&R.  Greetings from Atlanta’s Hartsfield International Airport where we just landed.  We’ve just completed the first leg of our journey.  I only hope that our luggage made it here too.

Our next stop, Florida.  We’ll spend a few days in the sun, having fun, and visiting family and friends.  Then teak decks, chaise lounge chairs, and the sounds of steel drums await us as we set sail on the crystal blue water of the Western Caribbean.

So why am I telling you this?  As I rejuvenate my mind, body, and spirit, I am taking a break.  Lakeside Reflections will return the week of Thanksgiving.

It’s a world of laughter

A world of tears

A world of hopes

And a world of fears . . .

Okay, go ahead and shoot me now.  I’ve just put this tune into your head and you are now stuck humming it all day.

This song summarizes a part of my recent vacation.  Prior to leaving on our cruise, Silverback Gorilla and I met up with a childhood friend of mine, Sandy, who now lives in Orlando.  Together, we spent the day in Disney World.

Walt Disney World, probably the number one tourist destination in the United States, if not the world.  Four theme parks, two water parks, golf courses, and resorts, all in an area as large as the City of San Francisco.  What are the odds of running into someone you know?  Someone who you don’t even know is going to be visiting Mickey and his friends.

As a child, my parents took my brother and I to Disney World several times.  It was on the way to visit my grandparents in Miami.  Back then; Disney World was one park, the Magic Kingdom.  Jammed packed with people around Christmas time, we never imagined that we would run into anyone that we knew.  Not just anyone but our next-door neighbors.  Rarely did we speak with them so we had no idea that they would be there too.  What are the odds of this chance encounter?

Could this happen again?  Could I again go to Disney World and run into someone I know?  No way.  With thousands of people now in four theme parks, the odds makers in Vegas wouldn’t even touch this bet.

After riding Expedition Everest at the Animal Kingdom, Sandy and I were walking back to Silverback Gorilla who was waiting for us.  “Hi,” I hear.  “Is your daughter with you?”

OMG!!!

It was Monkey’s teacher.  Needless to say we were a bit shocked to see her because she was to be at school with Monkey.  She explained that she had this trip planned and took the time off.

Well Vegas odds makers, hold on because I’m not done.  Not only were Monkey’s teacher and her family at the Animal Kingdom, they were on vacation with another family – our neighbors who live two houses away.  We had no idea they were going to be there and vice versa.  I just beat the Vegas odds makers.

Okay, speaking of odds, I’ll move onto the cruise portion of our vacation and say that I made it into the final round of the ship’s slot tournament.  That said, I think I used up all my “odds” in Disney because I ultimately came in last place in the tournament.  But hey, I got a T-shirt for making it into the final round!

The best part of the trip for Silverback Gorilla and me; rest, relaxation, and a great suntan.  But we hit the jackpot in being able to spend some relaxing time with our close friends with whom we took the cruise.  

In a month I am headed back to Florida to spend a few days with Sandy.  Will I see anyone that I know?  The odds makers won’t even make that bet.  But I say, “It’s a small world after all.”

I’m a Jewish woman who is obsessed with a Christmas icon from years gone by.  Yes, I know some of you might have a problem with this notion of a Jewish person with a Christmas obsession, and if you are one of these people, either deal with it or stop reading.

Many hours of my childhood were spent at the now defunct Capitol Court shopping center.  Kohl's Food Store, Gimbels, Chapmans, The Hobby Horse, and Mansfields, are just some of the stores that we remember well.

It was around the holiday time that Capitol Court was home to something special.  It was home to Candy Cane Lane and the Kooky Cooky House.  Every year I walked past the picket fence made from giant gingerbread men and I peered into the windows of this Swiss chalet.  The Kooky Cooky House was an oversized gingerbread house made from fake gingerbread panels and decorated with required white icing, of course that was fake too.

There were no life-like Animatronics.  Instead, inside the Kooky Cooky House there was the square headed robot that ran the show from his control panel.  Red boxing gloves kneaded the dough and an iron pressed out the cookies that were baked in an old-fashioned oven.  Who needed Disneyland, Milwaukee had the Kooky Cooky House.  It was cheesy but this was our childhood.

Year after year I would see families dressed in their “Sunday best” waiting to enter this pre-fab house of confectionary delight.  Boys and Girls were waiting in line to tell Santa what they wanted for Christmas.  After they read their wish list to Santa, kids would get a coloring book and a cookie.  A Kooky Cooky House cookie; a perfectly crisp gingerbread man cookie with a smiling face.  Everyone seemed to be enjoying these cookies, except for me.

As a kid, I didn’t understand why my parents wouldn’t take me to the Kooky Cooky House.  So what that I am Jewish and don’t celebrate Christmas.  Maybe inside there was a menorah hidden someplace?

One December day in 1970, as my Mom and I were shopping at Capitol Court, she surprised me and took me to the Kooky Cooky House.  There I was in line with all the other boys and girls, but there were a couple of differences between them and me.  I didn’t care about seeing Santa.  I was overweight or slightly chunky, as my Mom likes to say; all I really wanted was the cookie.

When it was my turn, an elf guided me to Santa and I jumped onto his lap.  After he bellowed a hardy "HO HO HO", I told Santa that I’m Jewish and don’t celebrate Christmas.  Needless to say, he was a bit perplexed.  He looked around to see if any of his elves were listening and then he quietly whispered to me, “shhh  . . . don’t tell anyone but I’m Jewish too.”   Santa then asked what I wanted for Hanukkah.  That wish list I gave him.

Then it was time. . . I jumped off Santa’s lap, grabbed the coloring book, and there it was – the cookie.  A Kooky Cooky House cookie; a perfectly crisp gingerbread cookie.  A cookie baked by those elves inside that pre-fab house of confectionary delight.  The best cookie I’ve ever had; a very special cookie from a very special place.

As an adult I know understand why I went inside the Kooky Cooky House only once.  Obviously, I didn’t need to sit on Santa’s lap to read him my wish list.  My parents took me go inside once because they wanted me to experience this holiday tradition.  Little did they realize that a gingerbread house would make such a lasting impression on me.

Today this iconic structure holds so many memories for me just as it does for many Milwaukeeans; it was a part of our youth.  It was something that we looked forward to seeing every holiday season.

96.5 WKLH is bringing back the Kooky Cooky House and all its magical memories on December 13, at the Riverside Theatre.  For one special evening, Dave and Carole’s Kooky Cooky Christmas Show will give Milwaukeeans the ability to relive the memories associated with this iconic holiday tradition.

There will be a recreation of this famed “house” as well as actual artifacts from the original structure.  An added bonus, everyone will get a gingerbread man cookie.

The morning show crew will be there, including Dave, Carole, John McGivern and Gino Salomone.  Singers, dancers, storytellers, and much more will put the audience in the holiday spirit.  Yes, even Santa will be there!

Proceeds from this evening go to support the Christmas is for Kids party that is held annually.  This party provides a holiday dinner, entertainment, and presents for Milwaukee’s most needy children.

For further information, please log onto wklh.com.

In this season of giving and being thankful for what you have, spend an evening being thankful that you have such wonderful memories of the Kooky Cooky House.  Revive your Kooky Cooky House memories while helping a worthy cause, children in need of a Merry Christmas.

Come out and join the fun.  I’ll be the one there telling Santa what I want for Hanukkah!

Arf arf woof bark squeak arf yap woof howl

Brrrrr

Arf

Brrrrrrrrr

Woof woof yap arf bark growl

Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

My name is Daisy Belle Stein and I am a 2 ½  year old Bichon Frise.  I am the guest blogger this week for Lakeside Reflections.

The above message is for my doggie friends.  Please read it to them.  For those of you who do not speak K-9, it says the following:  it's cold outside.  Brrrr.  Too Cold.  Brrrrr.  Very Cold.   Brrrrrrr.

If you are a big dog, have lots of fur, or just enjoy being outdoors, go outside and play in the snow.  Rub your nose in it.  Make doggie snow angels.  Just don't come looking for me.

Arf woof bark woof bark growl.  Brrrrrrrrr!

However, I am a small dog; I was the runt of my litter.  Plus being a female Bichon Frise, by nature, I am a princess dog.  That said, I DO NOT LIKE THE COLD OR SNOW.

I know that cold torture is about to begin when I see my Mommy getting all bundled up to take me out.  The blue parka means impending agony for my tiny white body.  Admittedly, I do have a cute wardrobe of doggie sweaters and coats to keep me warm in the frigid outdoors, but they don’t help much.  I bet my Mommy wouldn’t be warm if her behind was exposed to sub-zero temperatures!

My boyfriend, Webster, a Basset Hound, laughs at my wardrobe but my pink fur coat with a satin bow is much prettier than his plain sweater.  He says that my Mom dresses me funny because of John Malan.  I just wish that Mr. Malan would tell me that its 60 degrees outside.

But I do have to go outside and do my doggie thing in the cold outdoors.  I would like to stay inside but my Mommy gets very upset if there is an accident in the house.  That goes back to the time when I was just a little puppy and . . . well, it’s not my fault that Mommy didn’t watch where she was walking in her bare feet.

Arf bark woof yap arf bark

For as much as I don’t like going outside, it has its rewards.  When I come inside, I get to snuggle up to Mommy or Daddy.  They rub my tummy and then it’s all about the tummy rub.  This makes me happy again.

Happy until I see Mommy taking the blue parka out of the closet!

Brrrrrrrr

Monkey frequently asks what things were line in the "olden days".  To an eight-year old, the "olden days" is sometime between dinosaurs roaming the Earth and the time when I was a child.

Now that we are in the midst of the holiday season, her questions focus on what the holidays were like in the “olden days”.  Holiday “olden days”, a time when inflatable Snowmen didn’t decorate the lawns of every house in the neighborhood.  A time when Hanukkah wasn’t celebrated by lighting a menorah in a shopping mall, and Kwanza was not yet invented.

The arts community in Milwaukee gives us a chance to look back at the “olden days” through a variety of productions taking place this holiday season.

Perennial favorite, The Nutcracker, returns to the Marcus Center for the Performing Arts.  The Milwaukee Ballet’s presentation of this classic ballet takes us back in time to the Victorian Era where a child’s fantasies come to life.  It shows us that in the “olden days” a child’s favorite toy was not Guitar Hero or an American Girl doll but rather just a simple wooden nutcracker.

For another look back at the past, The Milwaukee Rep’s production of A Christmas Carol at the historic Pabst Theatre takes us back to London in the 1800s.  This story reminds us that in the “olden days” candles provided the necessary light, people walked down cobblestone streets, and not all homes had ovens to cook that holiday dinner.  A Christmas Carol is a tale that reminds us of the true meaning of the holiday season.  Whether it’s the 1800s or 2008, most important is caring for our family and friends.

Lastly, for a more modern look at the “olden days” (olden from an eight-year old’s perspective), look no further than John McGivern’s Winter Tales being performed at the Next Act Theatre.  This one-man show delightfully transports us into the McGivern family dining room for Thanksgiving dinner and into his parents’ brick basement for a New Year’s Eve party.  Our memories are jogged; we recall our own visits to Santa Claus at Capitol Court and paging through the Sears and JCPenney catalogues to pick out our wish list of toys.

Take in one, two, or all three of these shows, each in its own way a reflection of the “olden days”.

As you celebrate Christmas, Hanukkah or Kwanza, take time to share holiday memories with your family.  Teach your children and grandchildren about your family's holiday traditions.  Traditions that for these youngest family members represent the "olden days".

As we quickly approach the end of this year, it's time to begin thinking about New Year's Eve.  Is this really a special night or is it a night that we like to think is special?  To answer this question, I turn to It's Just Another New Year's Eve, a song written and sung by Barry Manilow.  This song contains the following lyrics, "it's just another New Year's Eve, another night like all the rest."

How true is this?  You may disagree and say that December 31^st is a special night, ringing in the New Year, but the fact remains that when you wake up at 7:00am (or noon, if you’ve been out all night drinking) on January 1, 2009, ask yourself, will life still be the same?  Will January 1^st immediately bring peace on Earth?  Will the stock market suddenly go up 10,000 points?  Will Monkey close the shower curtain all they way so the bathroom doesn’t flood when she takes a shower?  On January 1, 2009, the answers to these questions still remain the same; no, wishful thinking, and got a snorkel and fins that I can borrow?

As much as “it's just another New Year’s Eve, another night like all the rest” there is something different about this night.  It’s a night when my little night owl (or should I say night Monkey) can stay up until midnight playing video games and be not reminded that it's way past her bedtime.  It’s a night when I’m not being dragged out of bed if Daisy needs to go outside at 12:15am  And it’s a night when Silverback Gorilla delights in rambling on and on and on . . . about the New Year’s Day Mummer’s Parade that he would go see as a little boy growing up in Philadelphia.  From the stories he tells, I am glad that my New Year’s Day parade experiences as a child merely entailed lying on the sofa watching the Tournament of Roses parade on TV.

What will you do this New Year’s Eve?  Will you be getting dressed up to go to a fancy party at a downtown hotel?  Will you spend a quiet evening watching Dick Clark (our generation’s Guy Lombardo) in Time Square as we count down the minutes until the ball drops, marking the beginning of 2009?  Or will this be “another night like all the rest”?  Will you be snoring in the New Year, sound asleep in bed? Zzzzzzzzzz

However you decide to spend the final hours of 2008, enjoy and be safe.  Please don’t drink and drive.  On behalf of my family and friends, we wish you a happy, healthy, and prosperous 2009.