So Good It's Golden

As long as I have taken to using this blog as an occasional confessional, I might as well make another admission. Here it goes. *Deep breath* I am addicted to...


Wait for it....


..."The Golden Girls."

Yes, I'm cringing right now, waiting for the peals of laughter which I'm sure are occurring right now.  I don't know what it is, but I cannot get enough of that show. It's particularly inviting in the winter to put on my ridiculously large fuzzy slippers, curl up under my fluffy blanket, drink a glass of wine, and watch the ladies solve their problems over some cheesecake. Thank goodness Hallmark Channel has a marathon most weeknights, or I'd have to resort to some form of mindless entertainment other than reciting along with the verbal jabs Dorothy hurls at Rose.



Ah, yes, the confused looks as the ladies listen to a Rose story.

This isn't really a new found enjoyment, it's more of a rediscovery. It may actually stem from cozy, comforting feelings of watching the show in my youth. Back when I was a child and pre-teen-- before I was old enough to terrorize my parents by gallivanting around town and (gasp!) driving-- I used to watch that show every Saturday night. I chuckled at Rose and her dimwitted musings. I would stifle laughter over Blanche and her naughty ways so my parents didn't know I understood the jokes. And I feel as though I've basically turned into snarky Sophia at a disturbingly young age.

One aspect of the show I didn't appreciate until I was older was that Rose was from St. Olaf. When I was younger, I thought this was a made-up, mythical land in a country far, far away... kind of like Balki Bartokomous from "Perfect Strangers" and his fictional island of Mypos. Upon rediscovering "The Golden Girls" in the past few years, it hit me that St. Olaf was, in fact, in Minnesota. Then the gears (slowly) started turning and I remembered that for the short time I lived in Minnesota, I had indeed heard of the storied St. Olaf, and people spoke of it quite fondly. Of course, the people there are not the buffoons portrayed on TV (or so I'm told). Though I have never been there, it made me enjoy the show even more to have this small connection.

Does my enjoyment of the geriatric ladies make me a dork? Yes, definitely. A complete loser? Possibly, but I'd like to think not. Although sharing this odd affinity with the character Ross on "Friends" certainly doesn't help my case. But c'mon, you can't hear the opening notes to that theme song and NOT sing along. ("Thank you for being a friend...")

There are things to be learned from the women other than just that true friendship is timeless. Perhaps the funniest thing about my love of the show is how differently I view it as I grow older. My thoughts on time and ages has changed. When I first watched the series in my youth, the women seemed incredibly old. But watching it now I realize that at the beginning of the series the ladies are in their early 50s. 50s! I thought that was "elderly" and "close to death" when I was 9, but now it doesn't seem that way at all. I mean, my parents just turned 60 and they seem a lot younger now than the Golden Girls at 50. And what does this say about me and my advancing age? Yuck, let's not even delve into that.

Granted, everyone grows older differently, but it's amazing how our aging processes and perceptions of it change with each passing generation. As our life expectancies increase, ages which previously conjured images of nursing homes and walkers now equate to people who travel, exercise and in many cases still work. I love the fact that my parents are so active they seem like they're in their 40s, and that I would never guess right now they were close to, much less older than, the Golden Girls. The same goes for my in-laws who are incredibly active world travelers.

In retrospect, it seems so odd to me that the ladies didn't appear to hold down full-time jobs, and two of them had been widowed for about 10 years. Although this is how some people of that age live today, I think I would be hard pressed to find anyone I know in their early 50s in such a situation, much less enough to form a group and make it seem commonplace, as it was in the show. With any luck, my parents won't be in that position until they're at least 90. And my Golden Girls shouldn't anticipate me moving in with them until I'm approximately 110.

Until I reach that state when I spend countless nights giggling with older girlfriends over ice cream and cake late into the night, I will spend my time doing the same with my younger girlfriends, and will enjoy every minute of it. That, and I'll continue to watch "The Golden Girls" in reruns ad nauseum. If you want to join me, there's always room for another fan on my couch. And I might even share my fuzzy blanket.  ("...Your heart is true, you're a pal and a confidant...")

The Fall of Summer

Dear Summer,
Please hold on just for a few more weeks.
Love,
Katie

I sent the note above to my beloved summertime, but I'm pretty sure my response was that far off, yet distinct, laughter blowing in the wind. I keep reminding myself that it isn't fall yet, but the passing of Labor Day, the unofficial end of summer, warns me that autumn lingers on the not-so-distant horizon. I'm not prepared to slip into fall mode.

Don't get me wrong, autumn is lovely... for about 10 days. After that amount of time, I want my beloved summer back. Not only am I a warm weather slut, but the chilliness of fall simply signals to me that my nemesis, winter, is right around the corner.

I told Chris last week that I am not going to deal with winter this year and he should prepare for us to move further south, possibly making a return to Florida. Once, I lived in Wisconsin. Later, I lived in Minnesota. Now, I can barely tolerate a Washington, DC winter. The funk I find myself in during the winter is not trivial.  I can't run outside because my lungs seize up. I can't go camping because I'd freeze my booty off. The trees become barren and depressing. The weather turns gray. I end up sitting my butt on the couch grumbling about when summer is going to return. 

I realize all of these things are reasons to dislike winter and do not directly deal with the issue at hand: I love summer and I'm about to lose it. This August (although I was only here for two weeks of it) was unusually pleasant, and even downright cool. Summer is slipping through my fingers at a disturbing rate, and the torrential rain we've had over the past couple of weeks hasn't allowed me to frolic in the final days of it like I had hoped.

To prevent me from downright bawling like a baby about the onset of fall, I will focus on the positive and enumerate my favorite things about the season so it doesn't seem as depressing:

Are you ready for some football?!?

1.  The start of football. I know a lot of fans say football is a cold weather sport, but I loved it even in the September heat of Florida. However, there is something to be said about throwing on a heavy jersey and some sweat pants and lounging in front of the TV all Sunday long. I endure all the mindless babbling about the ever-so-long baseball season on ESPN for the majority of the year, hoping to catch a blurb about the upcoming (unfairly short) NFL season. The lockout really had me scared this year because football is the main thing getting me through the fall and long winter. Welcome back, football. I will be lovingly cradling you close to my heart for the next four and a half months.



All beers should strive to be like "the falls."

 2.  Darker beer. This definitely goes well with point number one, but also stands up on its own. Fall beers--harvest brews and Oktoberfests--are my favorites. The summer brews typically fall short in my view, so seeing the seasonal taps change to "the falls" is a glorious occasion. I do also enjoy dark winter beers, but something about the caramelly taste and texture of the fall offerings makes me smile every time. Yes, I even like the oft-debated pumpkin beer. And I'll let you behind the curtain a little bit--I've even come up with a song to extol the praises of fall beer. It's called "It's the Most Wonderful Time for the Beer" and is sung to the American Christmas classic "It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year." Yes, I am a sad, sad individual.

3.  The smell. Although I don't like the look of naked trees after the leaves fall, there's such a wonderful, earthy aroma that comes with it. It's often better than the humid, rotting smell during the heat of summer

Bib and fork not included.

4.  Fall produce. Squash, pumpkins, potatoes, eggplant, mushrooms, cranberries, pomegranates, apples, pears, figs. Mmmmm, just some of the delish delights I love cooking with when the weather turns cool. From savory soups to drool-inducing pies, cooking with fall produce provides such a wonderful comfort food experience. Even better is finding a farm that lets you pick your own produce. I'm also going to put maple syrup in this category, though it's loosely related. Chris' uncle and aunt in Connecticut hook us up with delicious, smoky maple syrup that their neighbor makes. Hopefully we'll get the hook up again this fall. (Hint, hint. Are you reading this, Tom and Mary Jane?)

5.  Cider. You may think this should be under the "fall produce" heading, but I think cider is so phenomenal it deserves its own line. I positively cannot get enough cider. I don't mean the nasty mass produced stuff you find on the grocery store shelves, I mean the hearty, rich type from a good farm (or farmers market).  My family knows a great go-to gift for me is a year-long supply of mulling spices, which I go through with the type of speed typically reserved for spices like salt. You have not enjoyed fall until you've enjoyed my mulled cider.

Hello, lovelies.

6. Fall fashions/boots. I love my warm weather gear, but I think just about everyone looks more svelte in a light sweater than in short shorts. Plus, I positively adore fashion boots and miss wearing them in the summer. I have been sporting tall boots for more than a decade, so you can imagine my glee at the boot explosion in the past few years. Just ask my husband. He claims I have a "boot problem." Personally, I don't see the problem.

One would think all of these things would excite me enough about the onset of fall to accept that summer is ending. One would be incorrect in thinking that. I won't bore you with my extensive list of why summer kicks all other seasons' arses, but just know that nothing even comes close to the glorious days of summer. 

I will begin focusing on the above list as autumn approaches, but in the meantime I'm going to continue to revel in the remnants of summer. And I'm going to keep my fingers crossed that this year summer decides to stick around until November, allows fall to sneak in for 10 days around Thanksgiving, then returns in December.  Hey, a girl can dream, can't she?