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Sue Spitulnik

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Sue Spitulnik

I am a retired grandmother that grew up in western New York State, left for 25 years, and am now back in the area. I happily live with my husband and two cats. I am pro-military, writing, food, family, and quilting. I am con-exercise, insulting commercials, and lack of common sense. I have met some great friends through this website.

Share A Cold One

In my life, there are a lot of beer drinkers.  A greeting when we visit someone, or they visit our house, is, “Ya wann’ beer?”  Our second fridge in the garage has a few kinds of beer in it.  Some of the new exotic stuff for my daughter and good old-fashioned Budweiser for my husband.  My son has just switched to Miller, and to do away with gluten I have switched to hard cider.  There’s nothing better on a hot steamy day, than a cold refreshing long neck. (For you non beer drinkers, that term refers to the neck on the bottle.)

When my husband and I first started dating, he and his co-workers went our for Friday happy hour without fail.  Sometimes there were just six of us, other times there would be close to twenty.  I would start watching the clock at my job, waiting for the phone call to tell me where everyone was meeting.  That was fifteen years ago and I can still tell you some of the exact conversations that took place and what we laughed about.  The crowd dwindled when one of the young ladies got pregnant, a couple guys decided to loose weight, and others changed jobs. We miss those days, and the closeness of that group.  We have a reunion twice a year just to stay in touch.

We have some very close friends and relatives that have had the opportunity to travel Europe and parts of Asia.  The young men involved rate the countries according to how well they like the beer.  I haven’t heard much about food except the meals in Germany.

My grade school chum and I get together for lunch about every three weeks.  We don’t sit in a chain restaurant with a cup of coffee, we sit in a bar, eat chicken wings or burgers and drink beer.  Yes, there is now gluten-free beer.  We have a lot of laughs, we tell each other our secrets, new and old (which no one else can hear over the music) and we forget our responsibilities for awhile.  We talk about current events and the family members we have buried.  We’ve known each other a long time, she’s my best friend.

And don’t forget it’s football season.  Who in their right mind would watch a football game without a cold beer to go along with the snacks.  I know, a lot of people would, but generally not in my realm.  Go Bills!  (We never lose hope!)

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Recycle That Can!

I’m guessing just about every household in the U.S. has some aluminum cans in it, probably filled with beer, tea, soda, or pop (depending on your locale).  I can’t speak for other countries, because I don’t know for sure.
The following facts I took from the National Day of Calendar.  I share because they are particularly informative.  This is talking about just aluminum, but I encourage you to recycle all your cans.
Interesting Facts:
  • If you laid all the aluminum cans recycled in 2010 end to end, they could circle the earth 169 times.
  • In America, 105,800 cans are recycled every minute.
  • Recycling aluminum saves 95% of the energy it would have taken to process the same amount from a virgin source.
  • Your television can run for 3 hours from the energy saved by recycling one can.
  • Aluminum cans are worth about a penny each.
  • The industry pays more than $1 billion annually for recycled cans.

In  New York state, we pay a five cent deposit on aluminum cans, then get it back when we turn the cans in.  Some recycle centers will pay six cents a can on certain days.  It’s worth it to save them up if you have the space and are a pre-planner to take them back on the right day.  At some large supermarkets there are machines you insert the can into and it is immediately shredded, the crux, it can’t already be crushed.  When you are finished you get a receipt for how much money you have coming back to use toward your groceries.

So next time you have a nice cold beverage out of an aluminum can; recycle that can to add to the above statistics.

 

 

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Applesauce Anyone?

Have you ever driven past an apple orchard when it is in full bloom?  Not only is it pretty and serene, it smells fresh and flowery.  In the fall, when the apples are weighing the branches down, begging to be picked, you can once again enjoy the scent, but this time it makes your mouth water because you can almost taste the fresh warm applesauce or feel the juice running down your chin after a crunchy bite.

When I was young, we would get a peck of apples, wash them, cut them in quarters and put them, just like that, in a pot to cook.  Not much water was added, just enough so the apples didn’t burn.  Once they were cooked to the mushy stage, we would put ladles full in a cone shape colander then use a wooden thing that looked like a one handled rolling-pin with a blunt end (I don’t know its name) to force the sauce into another pot before we canned or froze it.  This process removed all the skins, seeds and stems.  The result was a pretty pink applesauce.  No preservatives, maybe a tiny bit of sugar. It sure tasted good when we ate it warm while looking out at snow drifts.

I have had the good fortune to live near Lake Ontario in New York state and in Washington state along the Columbia Gorge where apple orchards are plentiful.  It’s fun to drive past the orchards when the apples are ripe to see the green Granny Smiths, the reds of all types, and the Yellow Delicious. Stopping at a road side stand to buy apples is a must.

In Fort Wayne, Indiana in Johnny Appleseed Park there is a grave marking the spot where the legendary sower of apple seeds rests. He was born John Chapman on September 26, 1774, in Leominster, Massachusetts.  He  was a unique man whose appearance was as interesting as his mission.  He traveled, mostly barefoot, from Pennsylvania to Wisconsin, planting apple trees, taking care of sick orchards, and doing kind acts for people along the way.  When I was in grade school we learned about this man at this time of year. 
Next time you buy a bag of apples, or buy some fresh ones at a stand, remember Johnny Appleseed and his contribution to our lives, then enjoy a bowl of warm applesauce.
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Freedom Isn’t Free

Currently there is a national push to thank our military personnel, past and present, for their service.  That’s a wonderful thing, because freedom isn’t free.  Sometimes it’s hard to understand why we have “boots on the ground” in some places we know little about.  Our government makes the decision where our troops go.  We don’t have to agree with that decision, but I ask that you support the troops regardless.

Have you ever noticed a small rectangular white flag in the window of a house in your neighborhood?  If that flag has a blue star in the middle it means an active duty military person calls that address home; one of the parents hung that flag with a feeling of pride.  If the flag has a gold star, it means the military member made the ultimate sacrifice with his or her life for the United States of America.

Think about that a minute and relate it to your own life.  Can you call, skype, text, or visit your child at will?  Some parents can’t.  They go to the cemetery and cry, shake their head with disbelief, and imagine the next holiday without their child in attendance.  Does the hurt of losing a child ever go away?  No.  It becomes tolerable over time because you learn to deal with it, but it never goes away.  (We buried a daughter, 13 years ago, when she was 27, after an auto accident; that’s how I know.)

We have many freedoms in this country that other countries do not enjoy.  Are we perfect? Far from it.  Probably never will be, but at least we don’t have a civil war tearing at us night and day like Syria does.  Be thankful for that.  Be thankful for the relative peace we do have.  Be even more thankful for the military that keeps us safe in ways we will never know about.  And the next time you see a little white rectangular flag in someone’s window say a silent prayer the blue star never gets replaced by a gold one; if it is already a gold one, remember, freedom isn’t free and that family has paid the price.

There are Gold Star Mother groups in many cities all over the country.  Visit   http://www.goldstarmoms.com    to find one near you.  They can help a parent deal with loss.

I wrote this from a parent’s point of view because that is what I am.  It can also be turned around that it is the child going to visit their parent in the cemetery.  Again.  Freedom isn’t free.

 

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My Definition of a POW

I have a lot of connections to the military, both past and present.  I fly the American flag 24/7.  Yes, it is properly lit.  I went outside yesterday and switched out the American flag for my POW/MIA flag that I will leave up until Monday in honor of my friends, some of which I can tell you their names and most of which I can’t.  I have the privilege of writing this in a sate of freedom because of the military, not because of our government that no longer takes care of our veterans.  I won’t apologize, I’m very biased on this subject.

I believe in my heart there are three different definitions of a POW.  First: the military member that was/is actually held by the enemy.  John McCain is the one I think of first.  Second; the veteran that leads a “normal” life, but has nightmares about his tour of duty, maybe is getting some help dealing with PTSD, talks to his brotherhood, other veterans, about what he had to do and what he witnessed.  Third; the person sitting at a bar who talks about his tour of duty like he came home yesterday, and it was actually many years ago; he/she doesn’t identify with todays life, feels alone and contemplates suicide on occasion.  There are about 20 veteran suicides a day.  Some have sought help and couldn’t get it, some never sought because they couldn’t admit the tough guy needed it and others because they lived in too rural an area to have help available.

Any veteran that did as our government directed will never be free of the memories.  I know a WWII and Korean Was vet whose job it was to load bombs.  He has told me, “I have no idea if any of the bombs I loaded were ever used, but it eats at me day and night.”  He generally stays awake at night, and sleeps during the daylight hours.  Tears form just writing this.  He’s a really good guy,  a great poet and he has my utmost respect.

There is a 90 plus year old lady in my home town that still wears the copper bracelet with her sons name on it; James Moore.  It also has the date he went missing in Viet Nam.  She never forgets either, and neither does her family.

I know this isn’t my usual type post.  I’ll close asking you to remember any POW or MIA with respect.  And while we’re at it, the American Flag and what it represents is why our veterans suffer with their memories.

 

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Don’t Miss the Party

Do you remember the very first company Christmas Party you went to?  The one you bought a fancy dress for, also got a new haircut or style, then filed and polished your nails the day before and refused to do anything that might break one.  The one that made you think you were so grown up and mature.  This happened for me when I was a senior in high school.  My “sweetheart” had graduated the year before and was working locally until his draft number came up.

A couple of days before the party he got a bad cold.  Of course he still went to work, but he decided he was too sick to go to the party because he was coughing all the time and had a slight fever.  I had been waiting for that party for over a month and I was devastated by his decision.  Luckily his boss lived across the street from me.  (And his boss’s daughter was a very close friend.)  I went to the neighbors to complain and share my misery.

The boss, Don, was a very understanding man with five kids of his own.  He was also very practical.  His reasoning we should still go to the party went something like this.  “Don’t you still have to eat?  Don’t people sometimes have a little brandy when they have a cold? Don’t a lot of cough drops taste like mint?”  Yes was the answer to all three questions.  The next instruction was, “You tell your boyfriend all of those things, then tell him to drink Stingers at the party.  I’m sure he’ll feel better.”  I had to ask what a Stinger was.  He explained it was a drink made with brandy and crème de menthe.

I went home to make the phone call that included the information and some begging.  We went to the party.  I found out it was just a bunch of people standing around talking, most of whom I didn’t know.  I don’t remember any details about the food or door prizes, but I remember Stingers are a great aid for the common cold.

Footnote: the legal age to consume liquor was 18 at the time in New York state.

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