My resolution is to lose weight.

My resolution is to eat healthier.

My resolution is to exercise more.

Why do we make New Year’s resolutions? Is there something magical about January 1^st? Will flipping the page on the calendar that you just bought for 50% off after Christmas make you a better person?

Okay, maybe it’s the fact that January 1 marks the start of a new month. After all, it’s probably easier to start a resolution at the beginning of a new month, isn’t it? But if that’s true, let’s change New Year’s resolutions to spring resolutions and start on April 1^st. Spring cleaning can be exercise, so how about a spring resolution to exercise more.

Maybe it’s the fact that starting a resolution in the beginning of a new year might just get you to keep it. Sorry, but how many of you resolved to lose weight last year and by March 1^st you were munching on a king size Snickers Bar? Oh wait, let me guess, it was a treat for losing one pound in two months.

No, January 1 is not the magical date. Besides, how many people actually start their New Years resolutions on January 1^st? Eating a bag of chips while watching the many bowl games on TV is breaking your resolution right out of the starting gate. And who really goes to the gym on January 1 to start the workout regime that you’ve been meaning to get to for the last year. That treadmill you got as a holiday gift, are you really going to use it on January 1? My guess, it’s an expensive coat rack.

So why DO we make New Year’s resolutions? The answer is simple, its what we’ve been told to do. But who started this oh so wonderful tradition? Who actually took the time to sit and think, “Oh it would be a good idea to change ourselves on January 1.” Let me guess, his resolution was to convince a world of people that this was a good idea. He succeeded.

So, here’s my resolution. I resolve to eat healthier and exercise more. I’ll start going to the gym sometime after I finish eating my large hot fudge sundae from Kopps. Really, I promise to start . . . sometime . . . maybe in April.

I’m a bad mother. No, that’s not it; I’m a neglectful mother. No, that’s not it either; I’m a forgetful mother. Yes! That’s it; I’m a forgetful mother. That is myself and every other forgetful parent at Target in Grafton on Monday night. The flurries outside couldn’t compare to the blizzard of activity that was taking place in the shoe department.

I’ve lived in Wisconsin all of my life. Okay, except for when I was in school but even then, I lived in Michigan. It snows there too. I should know better. It’s all summed up in two very simple winter equations.

Wisconsin + December = snow
Snow + kids playing in the snow = the need for boots

How could I forget? How could I not have bought boots for Monkey? But I did forget. I’ve never forgotten them before but this year . . . oh well.

My Mom was always prepared. She always remembered those two simple winter equations. My heavy rubber, nylon and fleece purple boots that weighted something like twenty pounds each were always there for me when I needed them. They were there along with my purple Eskimo style parka from Sears. Come on, you remember them. Purple parkas were for girls and the blue parkas were for boys. Buttons covered the zipper and the huge hood was trimmed in fake fur. And of course there was the penholder on the sleeve, just in case you needed to write a note to Nanook of the North on your way home from school. My winter wardrobe (the Purple People Eater Eskimo outfit) was always ready by the first snowfall.

Even though she hasn’t had to dress me for winter in, well . . . many years, I have to thank my Mom for remembering these two simple winter equations. It’s almost like she knew that I would forget them. Mother’s intuition, I guess. Besides boots, what else did I forget? Snowpants; a staple in every kid’s winter wardrobe. Thanks Mom for buying snowpants for your Grandmonkey.

Well after plowing through the crowds in the shoe department at Target, Monkey did come home with a pair of boots. Lightweight rubber, nylon and fleece black boots with purple flowers that weigh something like two pounds each. Snowpants, boots, a parka, and mittens make for a happy Monkey. She’s excited to play in the snow.

Wisconsin + December = snow

Snow that should be falling right about now. Snow that may create the first “snow day” of the school year. Snow that creates another winter equation.

Snow + kids playing in the snow = fun
 

Green Bay, Port Washington, Brown Deer, Good Hope . . . and roads in between. Enough already; enough with the orange barrels!

I’ve lived in Wisconsin long enough to know that we have two seasons, winter and road construction, but this is getting carried away. There is no place in the North Shore that is or has been immune from orange barrels this road construction season. The oranges barrels that once lined Silver Spring Drive in Whitefish Bay have now moved their way north creating the likes of war zones in Glendale, Fox Point, and Bayside.

Really, I’ve had it with the orange and white-stripped plastic contraptions that create mazes up and down the streets. And furthermore, how dumb does the Department of Public Works actually think I am? Do they actually think that I am going to drive on a road that looks like it’s been victim of an insurgent bombing? No, they feel the need to put a sign in the war torn lane that reads, “lane closed”. Well, if it weren’t apparent enough with the dust, rubble, and road sign, DPW trucks are blocking the area once considered a drivable lane. But really, that “lane closed” sign, THAT sign made all the difference. Without it, I’m sure that I would have maneuvered my way through, avoiding the trucks, workers, and broken concrete. DPW, thank you for saving my car and me. I just don’t know where I would be without your sign.

Okay, I just don’t get it. We live in an age where technology is ever changing. Things are built to last longer like the long life battery. In fact, when things wear out, we have long lasting replacements like the artificial knee. Why can’t a new super road construction material be invented? A super material that would withstand harsh Wisconsin winter road conditions. A super material that would only need to be replaced every twenty years. A super material would mean less orange barrel aggravation.

Just think what would happen if we had a super concrete . . . our two seasons would then become four. Gone would be the traffic delays as we zigzag in and out of those plastic contraptions. Our cars would not be coated in concrete dust. Our cars’ shock absorbers would not be worn out from driving on uneven, rubble laden roads. We wouldn’t be subjected to unsightly Porta Potties on the street.

Okay, I do get it. Super concrete would put car washes out of business. Super concrete would create unemployment for construction workers. Blah blah blah . . .

But as I see it – super concrete would be the best medicine to beat the orange barrel aggravation.
 

My name is Daisy Belle Stein, and I am a three-year-old Bichon Frise.  When I heard what my Mommy was going to write about this week, I jumped on the computer and decided to write this blog posting for her.   I need to voice my opinion on an important issue.  I need to speak on behalf of all my doggie friends.  We have a bone to pick with certain people.

I like to snuggle with my Mommy, Daddy, and two-legged sister (Monkey).  I like to give doggie kisses and lick my family, albeit Mommy isn’t too fond of the wet kisses.  I like to curl up on the floor and watch television with my family while they give me tummy rubs.  I’m a dog and these are things that dogs do.   By the way, American Idol is my favorite television show; woof woof for Danny.  

Dogs are pets. I think all my canine friends would agree that chickens are not pets.  Okay, maybe they are pets for kids living on a farm but chickens as pets in a major metropolitan area, to that I say “grrrrrrrrrrrrrowl”.  That’s doggie speak for “bad idea”.

Yes, chickens give eggs, something that I cannot do but if its eggs you want; go to the red bag store.  Yes, you don’t have to walk a chicken when it’s five below zero, snowing, or thunder storming outside but you do need to clean its coop.  And you think picking up after me is smelly; cleaning up after chickens - YUCK!

Have you ever had a chicken give you a kiss?  OUCH!  Even though Mommy might squirm at my wet tongue, she would agree that wet puppy kisses beat the painful peck of a chicken’s beak.

I don’t play fetch.  I could retrieve balls or Frisbees; I just choose not to do it.  I'm a lazy dog but in general, dogs like to play games.  Have you ever tried to play fetch with a chicken?  A chicken, what can they do, ring a bell with their beak?  How annoying is that?

I like my friends Chelsea, another Bichon Frise and Ginger, a Cockapoo.  Then there is Bo, the First Dog.  I’ve never met him but he’s my heartthrob.  Monkey has a Jonas Brothers poster in her bedroom but I have a poster of Bo above my bed, just call it puppy love.  We are all hypoallergenic dogs.  That’s why our families adopted us.  We don’t shed, we don't leave dog dander for others to smell, and we don't cause people to sneeze.  Even if my shedding friend Webster the Basset Hound leaves hair around, it doesn’t stink up the neighborhood.    

I’m not sure but I don’t think chickens are hypoallergenic, but I am a dog, what do I know?  Being that I don’t think these feathered creatures are hypoallergenic, their outside coops would pollute the air with irritants that would hurt people with allergies.  I don’t want to see my Mommy hurt.  Plus, when Mommy sneezes because of her allergies, she sneezes really loud and it scares me!  If I'm wrong and chickens are hypoallergenic, I’m sorry for inferring that their smell would be offensive to those with sensitive noses.  No . . . no . . . I'm not sorry.  Chickens smell.  If you don't believe me, just go to the chicken barn at State Fair.  Someone needs to put an air freshener in there.

If you want to raise chickens, go live on a farm.  Let’s keep chickens out of our North Shore neighborhoods.   Dogs are good pets.  Even cats are okay.  Chickens, not so much.

Arf Arf

Who was your first Valentine?  Maybe a boy in your sixth grade math class?  Or was it a girl in high school that you ogled over every time you saw her in the library?  We all remember our first Valentine; that wonderful person who made February 14th a special day.

February 14th started off like any other morning. I woke up in a room with bright lemon yellow walls and lime green shag carpeting.  Blurry-eyed, I staggered out of my bedroom.  Albeit you would think the shock of waking up in a bedroom taken from highlighter colors would be enough to wake anyone up, but it wasn’t enough for me; I’m not a morning person.

After a “pit-stop” to the room that we all first visit in the morning (oh come on, you know what I mean), I would go down the hall to the kitchen where my Valentine’s Day would begin.  There he was waiting for me, my first Valentine.  I didn’t get candy or flowers but I got something better, a big hug and kiss.  

He had breakfast waiting for me, a big bowl of magically delicious Lucky Charms, complete with the pinkish-red hearts, perfect for Valentine’s Day.  And who says that guys are not thoughtful??  

Next to my cereal bowl were cards from my Mom and brother (Mom made him give me one).  Off to the side there was another card, a card with a crown embossed on the envelope.  My Valentine cared enough to send the very best.  This was a cute card, pictures of teddy bears, duckies, or giraffes.  There was a sense of excitement about opening this card, why I don’t know.  Year after year, it was a card with a page to tear off and color.  Year after year, I’d open up that envelope . . . please let it be . . . please let it be . . . a page of stickers to plaster over my school notebooks, or a card with paper dolls to punch out and play with.  Oh well, another coloring page.  It really didn’t matter what the card looked like, it was the thought that counted.  A Valentine from my Daddy.  

In case you are living under a rock, or haven’t been to a store lately, this Saturday is Valentine’s Day.  That special day when Hallmark reminds us to think about those whom we love.  Family, friends, or even the dog, it’s a day to remember those who we hold close to our heart.

This Saturday morning, Monkey will leap out of bed, okay, more like stagger since she’s not a morning person either.  After making her “pit-stop”, she’ll wander into the kitchen.  Waiting for her will be her first Valentine, Silverback Gorilla, ready to give her a big hug and kiss.  

As I munch on my gift of chocolates, or stare at sparkly jewelry (hint to Silverback Gorilla), Monkey will sit at the table where a cereal bowl will be on her placemat.  Next to her bowl, a card with a crown embossed onto the flap of the envelope.  What kind of card will she open from Silverback Gorilla?  Will there be a teddy bear on it?  A giraffe?  Maybe a monkey?  Will it have a page to tear off and color or will she get stickers for her notebook?  Valentine’s Day will bring the answer.

Now I just need to remember to go to the grocery store and buy a box of magically delicious Lucky Charms.      

Happy Valentine’s Day!

How will you celebrate this Sunday?  Yes, I did say, “celebrate”.  Throughout the years, Super Bowl Sunday has become akin to a national holiday.  Arguably it is even bigger than some holidays.  Let’s face it; do you know anyone who throws a big party for Flag Day? 

If baseball is America’s pastime, why is one day of football so important to so many people?  Do we really care about the game?  After all, the Packers aren’t playing nor are the Jets for those diehard Favre fans.  What we DO care about are the commercials, the halftime show, and the party.

With advertisers paying a premium to show their ads, this is a day when we see the best of the best.  We don’t bypass the commercials on the DVR.  Instead, we actually record them to watch again and again; to critique and analyze which ones were the most endearing and which were the funniest.  Who can forget the Clydesdales playing football or Mean Joe Green tossing his jersey to a young boy?  

This year’s half-time show won’t bring us a Janet Jackson wardrobe malfunction.  We’ll gather for twelve minutes around the television wishing we were at this Springsteen concert.  We’ll sing along to our favorite tunes and remember those Glory Days when the green and gold were in the big game.  

Whether or not you are a football fan, family and friends will gather to eat, drink, and have fun.  We will gorge ourselves on the likes of chili, chips, and pizza, only to wake up in the middle of the night wondering if there is antacid in the medicine cabinet.  

My conclusion, Super Bowl Sunday is really a holiday.  It’s a day of celebration, food, family, and friends.  This is how we celebrate on the Fourth of July and the first Sunday in February.  

Remind me next year to send you a Hallmark card.  They have them for every other holiday, why not Super Bowl Sunday.

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.

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".

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

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!

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.