the friday feed: national ice cream month!

National Ice Cream Month is celebrated throughout the month of July, a tradition that began in 1984 when President Ronald Reagan signed Presidential Proclamation 5219 into law. The proclamation also designated the third Sunday in July as National Ice Cream Day. If you don't have a calendar handy, that's July 19 in 2026.

I've always loved ice cream, and I definitely inherited that trait from my dad. Some of my favorite childhood memories revolve around sharing ice cream with my family. There were root beer floats (always made with Dad's Root Beer), trips to Dairy Queen for either a hot fudge sundae or a chocolate cone dipped in chocolate, and the occasional Klondike Bar waiting in the freezer.

One of my favorite traditions happened when Dad was working at the Sears store in the Salem Mall. About once a month, he would take the long way home down Main Street so he could stop at Sherer's Ice Cream and stock up. He'd come home with six half-gallons to put in the big freezer in our basement. Choosing from all those flavors was half the fun: rich fudgy chocolate, peppermint stick, butter praline, the best vanilla and chocolate, fresh peach in the summer, and black cherry.

My love of ice cream continued into adulthood. When I was pregnant, I wasn't gaining much weight, so my doctor actually gave me permission to enjoy as many milkshakes as I wanted. That was all the encouragement I needed! Orange Watermelon Sherbet Coolers and Mint Chocolate Chip milkshakes from Friendly's quickly became favorite weekly treats.

So here came July 4, 2026 and to add to the celebration of America's 250th anniversary, Graeter’s Ice Cream, a near-by Cincinnati-based company. created a limited-edition flavor called Cherry Sparkler, featuring wild cherry ice cream with red and blue popping candy folded into every scoop. Yes, I bought some, and yes, it is absolutely delicious!

Whether it's a family tradition, a favorite neighborhood ice cream shop, or a brand-new flavor that catches your eye, ice cream has a remarkable way of bringing back memories and creating new ones. National Ice Cream Month is the perfect excuse to indulge in a scoop or two, share a sweet treat with family and friends, and celebrate one of America's most beloved desserts.

wednesday's words and wanderings and wonderings

The highlight of this past week was taking a yoga class at the Dayton Arcade. A gem of downtown Dayton since 1904, the Arcade began as a bustling public market and has since been beautifully transformed into a residential, commercial, and innovation hub. About 70 people gathered for the late afternoon class, making for a memorable experience in such a stunning historic setting.

 

Last Friday, Todd and I headed downtown for a concert at the Levitt Pavilion. After a brutally hot week, the heat dome that had settled over Ohio finally lifted, leaving a perfect summer evening to sit outside and enjoy a concert honoring our nation's veterans. It was a wonderful way to kick off the Independence Day weekend.

My Fourth of July began with a work shift at the farm. The morning was a busy one, with customers stopping by for last minute picnic supplies. Corn on the cob was the favorite, with tomatoes close behind. After my shift, I hurried home for a quick shower and then spent an hour or so chopping vegetables for my "Summer in a Bowl" salad to take to a friend's gathering. Her parties are always a joy because so many of the guests are soccer parents from the days when our sons played together.

A college friend, who could easily have been a preacher, shared this thoughtful message on the Fourth of July. He has always had a gift for bringing people together and reminding us of what matters most.

And finally, no Fourth of July would be complete without the annual hot dog eating contest at Coney Island. God bless America...and Joey Chestnut!

monday's mulling: semiquincentennial

I’m a proud word nerd. Give me a perfectly ordinary word and I’ll happily dig down to its roots like a an archaeologist with her pick. So when semiquincentennial appeared, my brain practically started doing cartwheels.

Semiquincentennial. A 250th anniversary.

At first glance, it looks less like a word and more like someone lost a fight with a bag of Scrabble tiles. But take a deep breath and break it down bit by bit into its Latin roots:

• Semi = half
• Quin = five
• Centennial = 100 years

Put them together and you get half of five hundred years.

Half of 500 is 250. (Even we word nerds can do a little math).

So while semiquincentennial may sound like a condition the grammar police should investigate, it’s really just a fancy way of saying 250th anniversary.

Thinking about the semiquincentennial reminded me of my friend, Patricia Saxton, a wonderfully talented artist who lives in Sedona. We met in college back in the late 1970s, and I’ve been admiring and following her creativity ever since.

In 2011, Pat launched 52 Weeks of Peace, “a visual exploration of a familiar symbol, imagined, designed and illustrated with an intention to inspire hope, joy and the practice of mindful peace in our daily lives.” You can explore the series here: 52 Weeks of Peace

At the time when Pat introduced 52 Weeks of Peace, I was teaching 8th grade Language Arts. Every Friday, I would end class by sharing her most recent peace symbol. The students really embraced the idea. They looked forward to seeing each week’s design, and some even created peace symbols of their own. It turned out to be a pretty wonderful way to start the weekend.

Pat completed all 52 peace signs years ago and has since moved on to other artistic adventures. Still, every now and then, a new peace sign appears on her social media.

To celebrate the semiquincentennial, Pat recently reached back into the spirit of her 52 Weeks of Peace series and created her 87th peace sign.

It doesn’t have an official title, but I’ve been toying with a couple of ideas: “A Peace of Pie” or “Have a Piece of Peace.”

What would you call it?

merci, la france

The people of France have given the United States more than one remarkable work of art and I am lucky to have seen both of these beautiful creations.

The most famous is the Statue of Liberty. Officially titled Liberty Enlightening the World, the colossal copper monument was a gift from the people of France to the United States. First proposed in 1865, it was designed by French sculptor Frédéric-Auguste Bartholdi, with engineering by Gustave Eiffel, to celebrate the Franco-American alliance and the abolition of slavery.

Originally unveiled in Paris on July 4, 1884, the statue was then carefully dismantled, packed into 214 crates, and shipped across the Atlantic. It was officially dedicated in New York Harbor on October 28, 1886. Today, the Statue of Liberty stands as a national treasure, one of the most recognizable landmarks in the world, and an enduring symbol of freedom, opportunity, and hope.

 

Less widely known is America Windows by Marc Chagall. Chagall, a Russian-born artist of Jewish heritage who became a French citizen in 1937, created this extraordinary set of six stained-glass panels for the Art Institute of Chicago. He presented the work as a gift in 1977 to commemorate the U.S. Bicentennial.

The windows are a dazzling blend of color and symbolism, weaving together images from American history, the Chicago skyline, and the arts, including music, painting, literature, architecture, theater, and dance. Together, they reflect both Chagall's artistic vision and the cultural ties between France and the United States.

4th of july/america 250

4th of July views from around town:

This house puts these flags up starting on Flag Day (June14) and they fly until after Labor Day (first Monday in September).

Our neighbors decorate for every holiday. Each month the decorations depict another holiday.

Uncle Sam says, "Hi and Happy 4th of July!"

A young neighbor decorates the street with her version of fireworks.

The flag flies at the military memorial at David Cemetery, where my parents are buried.

Downtown Dayton: Holbrooke Plaza honors Richard Holbrooke, an Assistant Secretary of State and Ambassador to the United Nations, but achieved his greatest fame when he negotiated the Dayton Peace Accords which ended the war in Bosnia.

Downtown Dayton: the Old Courthouse.

The Dayton National Cemetery, the final resting place for over 50,000 veterans from every major US conflict dating back to the Revolutionary War. Joshua Dunbar was born enslaved in Kentucky and later in life, with the assistance of Quakers, fled Kentucky to Canada through the Underground Railroad network. He returned to the US in 1863 after the creation of the United States Colored Troops. He is the father of Dayton poet Paul Laurence Dunbar.

Woodland Cemetery is Dayton's most historic cemetery and like the Dayton National Cemetery is the final resting place for Revolutionary War soldiers and veterans from every major US conflict forward from that time.

the friday feed: sloppy joes

Sloppy Joes are classic American comfort food. This hearty sandwich features browned ground beef simmered in a “sloppy” sauce made with ketchup, tomato sauce, mustard, onions, Worcestershire sauce, and other seasonings that create a sweet, tangy, and savory flavor.

Last Sunday, Todd brought home the monthly Feed the Homeless casserole dish from church, and this month's recipe was for Sloppy Joes.

As I looked over the recipe while making the shopping list, one ingredient jumped right out at me: 4 pounds (1.8 kg) of ground beef. I gave a little gasp. Ground beef is running around $6.99 per pound these days. But when I put it into perspective, the recipe makes about 20 sandwiches, which works out to just over $1 per sandwich to feed a hungry person.

Tomorrow, July 4, Todd will deliver the Sloppy Joes to the church volunteers. It seems fitting that this All-American favorite will be served on Independence Day. While many of us will celebrate with backyard cookouts and family gatherings, these simple sandwiches will provide a comforting meal for those less fortunate. In their own humble way, Sloppy Joes represent the spirit of America: simple, satisfying, and meant to be shared.

rockin' it

Twenty-four years ago today, my dad passed away. So why am I posting pictures of rocks?

Every time we moved to a new city, somewhere in the middle of packing boxes my dad would look at my mom and say, “Dear, half the weight on this moving van is your books and rocks.”

He wasn't entirely wrong.

My grandparents are really the ones who started this family love affair with rocks. Every winter, they escaped the cold Illinois weather and headed to the American Southwest and Mexico. Along the way, they collected rocks and brought them home. Grandpa would take them out to his shed, put them in a tumbler, and polish them until they shined. Then he would hand them out to his grandchildren.

I loved those rocks.

When we sold Mom's house, all of my siblings mentioned the rock collection. Everyone wanted some of the rocks, and as the oldest sibling, it became my job to figure out how to divide them up fairly.

My solution? Mom had a collection of wonderful old jars, so I lined them up and, much like I used to divide jelly beans among my kids at Easter, I dealt out the rocks. A little bit for everyone.

Today, one of the shelves in my living room holds part of that collection and all the memories that come with it.

The top shelf is dedicated to Todd's dad. The flag was presented by the American Legion to Todd's sister in recognition of his service in the Navy.

The middle shelf is dedicated to my dad. It includes a few mementos from his career at Sears, along with some Hummels that remind me of the years he was stationed in Germany.

As I look at those shelves, I see more than rocks and keepsakes. I see family stories  and reminders of the lives they lived. And every time I walk by, I think of my dad's comment about the moving van and smile.

wednesday's words and wanderings and wonderings

It's July, and we're officially in the second half of the year. Where does the time go?

I've been having fun in the kitchen lately. I've baked three ricotta cakes: one with strawberries and plums, one with peaches and blueberries, and one with strawberries, peaches, and blueberries. Two were gifted to friends, and I kept one to share with my son and daughter-in-law.

What else have I been making? Zucchini blueberry muffins, a fresh zucchini-corn-tomato medley, and green beans, onions, and potatoes cooked with bacon to accompany steaks on the grill. As you can tell, it's peak summer vegetable season, and I'm embracing it wholeheartedly.

At the moment, a heat dome has settled over the area. It's been oppressively hot and  our afternoon walks have shifted to the early morning hours. The neighborhood dog walkers are keeping their outings short, strolling only a few houses at a time and letting their pups walk in the grass to avoid burning their paws. The street near my yoga studio was recently blacktopped, and the difference in temperature between the sidewalk and the road is very noticeable. Whew!

As shown on this map from the New York Times, the state of Ohio is covered in red.

Working at the farm continues to be a joy. For the past few weeks, the question we've heard most often has been, "When are you getting corn?" As of Monday, the answer is: now! We finally have sweet corn, and there are lots of happy customers.

I didn't take many photos this week, but I did spend some time doing a little photo shoot with my coneflowers.

the times they are a-changin'

Wow... how writing a research paper has changed.

Back in the day, research meant going to the library. You’d start with the card catalog, looking up a topic and then hunting through the shelves for books that might contain the information you needed. From there, it was a deep dive into encyclopedias, microfiche, newspapers, magazines, and whatever other publications were available. Once you found something useful, you copied the information onto index cards, made Xerox copies, or simply wrote notes on notebook paper. Then came the task of organizing and synthesizing all of that information into a coherent paper.

Along came computers, the internet, and online databases. Suddenly, research was available at your fingertips. Information could be copied, pasted, and stored in digital files for organization. Even then, I still wrote a lot of notes by hand and often used actual scissors and tape to cut apart and group ideas before drafting a paper. After all the gathering and organizing came the writing, weaving everything together into a cohesive final product.

When I was teaching, Wikipedia had become a popular source of information, but it wasn’t considered a valid academic source because it was crowd-sourced and could be edited by anyone.

And now there’s AI. Artificial Intelligence. Type in a topic, and a paper can be generated in seconds.

As times change, the way we do things changes too. I’m grateful for the skills I learned all those years ago. The process of digging for information, evaluating sources, and connecting ideas taught me far more than how to write a research paper. It developed critical thinking, problem-solving, and analytical skills that continue to serve me in many other aspects of life.

monday's mulling: early morning walks

We’ve been dog-sitting our son’s 8-year-old black Lab since last Wednesday. 2021 was our last year of having a dog in the house, and while we don’t plan to own another canine, we do enjoy the time with our temporary houseguest.

Brutus (aka B, B-Dog, B-Doggy, and Brutie) is an early riser, so our first walks of the day have been starting at 5:30 a.m. Todd and I take turns walking him around the neighborhood. Sometimes we simply go down the street and back; other times our walks last a little longer. We’ve also managed to avoid rainy day outings when precipitation was in the forecast.

I’ve really enjoyed these early morning walks. Brutus is a very sniffy dog, so I let him take his time exploring whatever scent has captured his attention. A dog’s sense of smell is remarkable. Years ago, when I took one of my dogs to the vet, I commented on how much he sniffed. The vet explained the difference between a dog’s nose and a human’s with this analogy: while a person might walk into a room and smell a pot of vegetable soup, a dog can smell the individual ingredients, the carrots, the broth, the salt, and the spices.

At this early hour, the birds are beginning to wake up, too. At first, only a few chirp their morning greetings, but by the end of our walk, the neighborhood is filled with a symphony of birdsong.

For me, it’s a peaceful way to begin the day: walking gently through a world that is just waking up, myself included. I’m not thinking about my to-do list. It’s simply one foot in front of the other, letting B-Dog do his dog things: stopping to pee, stopping to poop (I carry poop bags and, in fact, keep a supply at home), and sniff, sniff, sniff.

Good morning, world, and Happy Monday!

 

flower power!

"If we could see the miracle of a single flower clearly, our whole life would change."  ~ Buddha

 

grand handprints

Recently, a growing number of chipmunks is taking over our small patio garden. The little critters are cute, but they're also becoming quite a nuisance. They've been burrowing through the flower beds and destroying some of our lilies. My neighbor has noticed the increase in chipmunk activity as well and recently purchased some chipmunk repellent. Following her game plan, I made a trip to Home Depot in search of something to discourage these pesky rodents.

While walking through the parking lot, I spotted a truck covered in handprints. Of course I stopped to take a photo. How could I not?

As I stood there, I found myself wondering: What's the story behind this truck?

Maybe Grandpa discovered it at an auction. It wasn't flashy. The paint was faded, the bumpers showed a little rust, and maybe it rattled when it started.

But in Grandma and Grandpa's eyes, it was perfect.

They had a plan.

One Saturday afternoon, they invited all their grandchildren over. They spread canvases across the driveway, rolled the old truck onto them, and opened cans of white and yellow paint. One by one, each grandchild dipped their hands into the paint and pressed them onto the hood, doors, and sides of the truck.

Giggles and squeals of delight ensued.

Some handprints were carefully placed, others were smudged and crooked, each one was treasured.

When the painting was finished, Grandpa stepped back, admired the truck, and smiled. "This isn't just an old truck anymore," he said. "It's our family."

Later that evening, with a stencil and a brush, Grandma and Grandpa added a final touch along the sides and tailgate:

HAND PAINTED BY OUR GRANDCHILDREN

From that day forward, the truck wasn't just for hauling mulch or picking up lumber. It became the vehicle for ice cream runs, fishing trips, family adventures, and countless memories.

It's not newest truck on the road and it's not the shiniest.

But it is the one with the most love.

the friday feed: coleslaw

For my grandson’s birthday party a couple of weeks ago, my daughter-in-law asked me to bring a salad. Knowing that there would be plenty of young children at the party, I thought a veggie tray would be a better choice. First, most little ones don’t eat salad, and second, a variety of cut-up vegetables gives everyone something they like.

A trip to the farmer’s market filled my basket with cucumbers, cherry tomatoes, red and orange peppers, sugar snap peas, and kohlrabi. Then a stop at the grocery store rounded out the tray with cauliflower, carrots, celery, and radishes. There was something for everyone.

As it turned out, there was so much food at the party that only a few people nibbled at the vegetables. By the end of the day, I found myself heading home with a large amount of leftover produce. We would be eating vegetables all week long.

What to do with all these veggies? As luck would have it, there was also a head of cabbage in my refrigerator that needed to be used. Coleslaw to the rescue.

I chopped the leftover vegetables from the tray, shredded the cabbage in my food processor, and dumped everything into my giant silver mixing bowl. That bowl has a story of its own. Many years ago, when my dad managed the Sears store at the Salem Mall, the store had a small snack shop where shoppers could sit down for casual fare such as hot dogs, hamburgers, french fries, soup, and salad. When the restaurant eventually closed, the store needed to dispose of the kitchen equipment. My dad was able to bring home several of the mixing bowls, and one of those industrial-sized bowls is now in my pantry.

Before long, that bowl was filled with coleslaw ingredients. There was way more than Todd and I could ever eat on our own.

It was time to share the bounty.

My boss’s family was coming into town, and her house would soon be full of visitors. She was going to need food for everyone. Why not send some coleslaw her way? It seemed fitting that vegetables purchased at her farmer’s market had been transformed in my kitchen and would now make their way back to her table. Food has a way of coming full circle like that.