Steven Harper's Blog, page 45
May 16, 2020
The Plague Diaries: An Explosion of Buyers
Wednesday evening at 11 PM, the house listing went live. I signed up to get text alerts whenever someone wanted to see the house. The automated system let me approve or deny a showing by texting back.
At 11:10, I got a request for a showing for Thursday afternoon.
At 11:20, I got another request for a showing for Thursday afternoon.
By Thursday morning, we had six requests. The earliest was for 8:30 AM. Then there was a gap until noon, when showings ran solid for hours.
Wow. Jim wasn't kidding.
On Thursday, the weather turned . . . gross. Chilly, rainy, awful. I turned on every single light in the house to brighten the place up.
For the 8:30 showing, we ordered breakfast from a takeout place, picked it up, and ate in the car. When we got back, we sanitized the place, wiping down every surface that we figured might have been touched.
In the middle of all this, I'd been scheduling showings of our own. In the old days, this would have involved sitting down with a real estate agent and paging through paper listings in stacks of loose-leaf binders collected by the real estate agent. Occasionally, the estate agent would say, "Oh! I know a house that just came on the market. You definitely need to see it."
Nowadays, the buyer does most of the work. Listings either come to you by automated email, or you hunt through real estate web sites that busily and invisibly harvest your information. By the time you've looked at fifty or sixty listings, the site has figured out your income and housing tastes and your DNA patterns.
Anyway, I had compiled a list of houses to see. This was actually difficult. Darwin insisted we keep the price at XX. I was dubious. We need a three-bedroom house (two bedrooms and an office, really) along with space for my treadmill, which Darwin also insisted could NOT be in the living room. This meant a house with a basement. However, the Wherever area is a hot zone for real estate due to the large number of lakefront and lake access properties and the fantastic school system. Finding a three-bedroom house with a basement for under $XX was hunting a unicorn.
I managed to find half a dozen listings that looked . . . possible, if not promising.
And I continued to field showing requests. Two for Thursday. One for Friday. Another for Thursday. Oops--could they reschedule for Friday? I accepted all of them.
Max and I vacated the house for the showings. (We'll talk later about how we occupied ourselves.)
That evening, less than 24 hours after we'd listed the house, my phone started blowing up with offers.
We got a cash offer for $15K under list price. (!) We got a regular offer of $5K under list price. And we got a regular offer at list price. We were about to accept that last one when Jim called to say that one agent was prepping "a very strong offer" and could we wait an hour? We said we certainly could.
An hour later, we got this offer: $4K over list. Cash. With a contingency clause that if anyone made a higher offer, this offer would rise to match it. Would we like this offer?
Yes. Yes, we would.
Less than 24 hours after listing the house, we had a cash buyer for way over list. Whoa!
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At 11:10, I got a request for a showing for Thursday afternoon.
At 11:20, I got another request for a showing for Thursday afternoon.
By Thursday morning, we had six requests. The earliest was for 8:30 AM. Then there was a gap until noon, when showings ran solid for hours.
Wow. Jim wasn't kidding.
On Thursday, the weather turned . . . gross. Chilly, rainy, awful. I turned on every single light in the house to brighten the place up.
For the 8:30 showing, we ordered breakfast from a takeout place, picked it up, and ate in the car. When we got back, we sanitized the place, wiping down every surface that we figured might have been touched.
In the middle of all this, I'd been scheduling showings of our own. In the old days, this would have involved sitting down with a real estate agent and paging through paper listings in stacks of loose-leaf binders collected by the real estate agent. Occasionally, the estate agent would say, "Oh! I know a house that just came on the market. You definitely need to see it."
Nowadays, the buyer does most of the work. Listings either come to you by automated email, or you hunt through real estate web sites that busily and invisibly harvest your information. By the time you've looked at fifty or sixty listings, the site has figured out your income and housing tastes and your DNA patterns.
Anyway, I had compiled a list of houses to see. This was actually difficult. Darwin insisted we keep the price at XX. I was dubious. We need a three-bedroom house (two bedrooms and an office, really) along with space for my treadmill, which Darwin also insisted could NOT be in the living room. This meant a house with a basement. However, the Wherever area is a hot zone for real estate due to the large number of lakefront and lake access properties and the fantastic school system. Finding a three-bedroom house with a basement for under $XX was hunting a unicorn.
I managed to find half a dozen listings that looked . . . possible, if not promising.
And I continued to field showing requests. Two for Thursday. One for Friday. Another for Thursday. Oops--could they reschedule for Friday? I accepted all of them.
Max and I vacated the house for the showings. (We'll talk later about how we occupied ourselves.)
That evening, less than 24 hours after we'd listed the house, my phone started blowing up with offers.
We got a cash offer for $15K under list price. (!) We got a regular offer of $5K under list price. And we got a regular offer at list price. We were about to accept that last one when Jim called to say that one agent was prepping "a very strong offer" and could we wait an hour? We said we certainly could.
An hour later, we got this offer: $4K over list. Cash. With a contingency clause that if anyone made a higher offer, this offer would rise to match it. Would we like this offer?
Yes. Yes, we would.
Less than 24 hours after listing the house, we had a cash buyer for way over list. Whoa!
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The Plague Diaries: Prep Dat House!
Monday evening, Max and I set about cleaning, straightening, and stuffing. We scoured the bathrooms, cleansed every counter, dusted every bit of wood. We put away or straightened every possession for maximum show-worthy quality. And we cleared off every surface that could be cleared. If we didn't need it--or even if we did--we stuffed it into a drawer or into a box in the garage. I even dismantled my indoor altar and disguised it as an end table.
This process went on through Tuesday. I reminded Max that his room would have to stay in show condition every minute, since we could get a request to see the house at any time. And I cleared out every bit of remaining evidence that cats had occupied the house--stray bits of litter in the basement, little crumbs of carpet snagged by their claws, the darker spots on the corners Dora always cheeks.
Jim was asking for photos. I took lots of them, every room from every angle. As a buyer, I always get suspicious when a listing has a paucity of pictures. What are they hiding? What aren't they showing? I know I'm not alone in this, so I took lots and lots of photos. The weather cooperated, giving me a beautiful sunny day to get the outdoor photos and light-drenched indoor photos. I saved them to Dropbox and sent Jim the link. He said he would get the listing up and running that evening.
This was Tuesday, and unknown to us, the storm was brewing.
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This process went on through Tuesday. I reminded Max that his room would have to stay in show condition every minute, since we could get a request to see the house at any time. And I cleared out every bit of remaining evidence that cats had occupied the house--stray bits of litter in the basement, little crumbs of carpet snagged by their claws, the darker spots on the corners Dora always cheeks.
Jim was asking for photos. I took lots of them, every room from every angle. As a buyer, I always get suspicious when a listing has a paucity of pictures. What are they hiding? What aren't they showing? I know I'm not alone in this, so I took lots and lots of photos. The weather cooperated, giving me a beautiful sunny day to get the outdoor photos and light-drenched indoor photos. I saved them to Dropbox and sent Jim the link. He said he would get the listing up and running that evening.
This was Tuesday, and unknown to us, the storm was brewing.
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The Plague Diaries: Preppin' Cats
With the decision made to sell the house, we set about prepping the place. This was Monday.
First, I ruled unilaterally that the cats had to go to Albion. People are ALWAYS put off when they tour a house with animals in it. It doesn't matter how nice they are, or how understanding, or how animal-loving. They always put back their whiskers and think, "Hm! Pet damage. Surprise smells. Hm!" So Dinah and Dora had to go.
Fortunately, we have a place to put them: the house in Albion. But . . .
Dora the Meatloaf was a teensy kitten when we first got her. Dinah was 18 months old when she arrived here four years ago. Neither of them remember anyplace but this house, and they've never set a paw beyond its boundaries except for rare trips to the vet. This was going to be a challenging time for them.
Unfortunately, we didn't have time to make it easier. Normally, I would have set out the cat carriers (we had to run out and buy a second one) with treats inside every day for a week so that they'd become normal, trusted parts of the house. But we decided Friday to list the house, and the cats had to be gone by the time the house went on the market early the following week. I sighed, and went to it.
Dora didn't take to being put in the carrier well at all. She fought and hissed and screeched and literally shit herself. I felt bad for her, but there was nothing for it. Dinah was more Zen about going into her carrier, at least. She hunkered down inside with an air of nervous resignation.
Max and I also loaded up all the cat stuff--three cat trees, litter box, food dispenser, toys, the whole lot--and drove to Albion. Both cats set up yowling. For the entire 90-minute drive. It was not fun for anyone.
At the house in Albion, we opened the carriers and half expected the cats to refuse to budge. But they bounded out and gingerly set about exploring this impossible, strange new place. All these stairs! A basement with many nooks and crannies! Different bedrooms! Different view out the windows! But familiar furniture. And familiar people. And familiar food. (This last was clearly most important to Dora.) There was much careful slinking. Dora finally settled on staying in the basement and only making brief forays upward, while Dinah quickly took to admiring the new outside view. For the first time in their lives, Things Have Changed.
Max and I had to go back the same day in order to prep the house, so we left Darwin in charge of the cats. He later reported that they were adjusting well. Dora made it up to the kitchen and flopped on her back to demand petting. Dinah claimed the sofa as her own.
So that was taken care of.
Meanwhile, Max and I headed back home to start prepping the house.
comments
First, I ruled unilaterally that the cats had to go to Albion. People are ALWAYS put off when they tour a house with animals in it. It doesn't matter how nice they are, or how understanding, or how animal-loving. They always put back their whiskers and think, "Hm! Pet damage. Surprise smells. Hm!" So Dinah and Dora had to go.
Fortunately, we have a place to put them: the house in Albion. But . . .
Dora the Meatloaf was a teensy kitten when we first got her. Dinah was 18 months old when she arrived here four years ago. Neither of them remember anyplace but this house, and they've never set a paw beyond its boundaries except for rare trips to the vet. This was going to be a challenging time for them.
Unfortunately, we didn't have time to make it easier. Normally, I would have set out the cat carriers (we had to run out and buy a second one) with treats inside every day for a week so that they'd become normal, trusted parts of the house. But we decided Friday to list the house, and the cats had to be gone by the time the house went on the market early the following week. I sighed, and went to it.
Dora didn't take to being put in the carrier well at all. She fought and hissed and screeched and literally shit herself. I felt bad for her, but there was nothing for it. Dinah was more Zen about going into her carrier, at least. She hunkered down inside with an air of nervous resignation.
Max and I also loaded up all the cat stuff--three cat trees, litter box, food dispenser, toys, the whole lot--and drove to Albion. Both cats set up yowling. For the entire 90-minute drive. It was not fun for anyone.
At the house in Albion, we opened the carriers and half expected the cats to refuse to budge. But they bounded out and gingerly set about exploring this impossible, strange new place. All these stairs! A basement with many nooks and crannies! Different bedrooms! Different view out the windows! But familiar furniture. And familiar people. And familiar food. (This last was clearly most important to Dora.) There was much careful slinking. Dora finally settled on staying in the basement and only making brief forays upward, while Dinah quickly took to admiring the new outside view. For the first time in their lives, Things Have Changed.
Max and I had to go back the same day in order to prep the house, so we left Darwin in charge of the cats. He later reported that they were adjusting well. Dora made it up to the kitchen and flopped on her back to demand petting. Dinah claimed the sofa as her own.
So that was taken care of.
Meanwhile, Max and I headed back home to start prepping the house.
comments
The Plague Diaries: Prep 'n' Stuff (With Cats)
With the decision made to sell the house, we set about prepping the place. This was Monday.
First, I ruled unilaterally that the cats had to go to Albion. People are ALWAYS put off when they tour a house with animals in it. It doesn't matter how nice they are, or how understanding, or how animal-loving. They always put back their whiskers and think, "Hm! Pet damage. Surprise smells. Hm!" So Dinah and Dora had to go.
Fortunately, we have a place to put them: the house in Albion. But . . .
Dora the Meatloaf was a teensy kitten when we first got her. Dinah was 18 months old when she arrived here four years ago. Neither of them remember anyplace but this house, and they've never set a paw beyond its boundaries except for rare trips to the vet. This was going to be a challenging time for them.
Unfortunately, we didn't have time to make it easier. Normally, I would have set out the cat carriers (we had to run out and buy a second one) with treats inside every day for a week so that they'd become normal, trusted parts of the house. But we decided Friday to list the house, and the cats had to be gone by the time the house went on the market early the following week. I sighed, and went to it.
Dora didn't take to being put in the carrier well at all. She fought and hissed and screeched and literally shit herself. I felt bad for her, but there was nothing for it. Dinah was more Zen about going into her carrier, at least. She hunkered down inside with an air of nervous resignation.
Max and I also loaded up all the cat stuff--three cat trees, litter box, food dispenser, toys, the whole lot--and drove to Albion. Both cats set up yowling. For the entire 90-minute drive. It was not fun for anyone.
At the house in Albion, we opened the carriers and half expected the cats to refuse to budge. But they bounded out and gingerly set about exploring this impossible, strange new place. All these stairs! A basement with many nooks and crannies! Different bedrooms! Different view out the windows! But familiar furniture. And familiar people. And familiar food. (This last was clearly most important to Dora.) There was much careful slinking. Dora finally settled on staying in the basement and only making brief forays upward, while Dinah quickly took to admiring the new outside view. For the first time in their lives, Things Have Changed.
Max and I had to go back the same day in order to prep the house, so we left Darwin in charge of the cats. He later reported that they were adjusting well. Dora made it up to the kitchen and flopped on her back to demand petting. Dinah claimed the sofa as her own.
So that was taken care of.
Meanwhile, Max and I headed back home to start prepping the house.
comments
First, I ruled unilaterally that the cats had to go to Albion. People are ALWAYS put off when they tour a house with animals in it. It doesn't matter how nice they are, or how understanding, or how animal-loving. They always put back their whiskers and think, "Hm! Pet damage. Surprise smells. Hm!" So Dinah and Dora had to go.
Fortunately, we have a place to put them: the house in Albion. But . . .
Dora the Meatloaf was a teensy kitten when we first got her. Dinah was 18 months old when she arrived here four years ago. Neither of them remember anyplace but this house, and they've never set a paw beyond its boundaries except for rare trips to the vet. This was going to be a challenging time for them.
Unfortunately, we didn't have time to make it easier. Normally, I would have set out the cat carriers (we had to run out and buy a second one) with treats inside every day for a week so that they'd become normal, trusted parts of the house. But we decided Friday to list the house, and the cats had to be gone by the time the house went on the market early the following week. I sighed, and went to it.
Dora didn't take to being put in the carrier well at all. She fought and hissed and screeched and literally shit herself. I felt bad for her, but there was nothing for it. Dinah was more Zen about going into her carrier, at least. She hunkered down inside with an air of nervous resignation.
Max and I also loaded up all the cat stuff--three cat trees, litter box, food dispenser, toys, the whole lot--and drove to Albion. Both cats set up yowling. For the entire 90-minute drive. It was not fun for anyone.
At the house in Albion, we opened the carriers and half expected the cats to refuse to budge. But they bounded out and gingerly set about exploring this impossible, strange new place. All these stairs! A basement with many nooks and crannies! Different bedrooms! Different view out the windows! But familiar furniture. And familiar people. And familiar food. (This last was clearly most important to Dora.) There was much careful slinking. Dora finally settled on staying in the basement and only making brief forays upward, while Dinah quickly took to admiring the new outside view. For the first time in their lives, Things Have Changed.
Max and I had to go back the same day in order to prep the house, so we left Darwin in charge of the cats. He later reported that they were adjusting well. Dora made it up to the kitchen and flopped on her back to demand petting. Dinah claimed the sofa as her own.
So that was taken care of.
Meanwhile, Max and I headed back home to start prepping the house.
comments
The Plague Diaries: A Mega-Decision
I love my house. I don't want to move. But . . .
Really, this house is too big. Darwin is only here part-time. Hell, =I'm= only here part-time. The basement is literally an entire 1,300-foot second house, complete with kitchen and full bathroom, but we only use it to house my treadmill. We sent one of the dining sets to Albion for Darwin to use, so the dining room is an empty, echoing space. It's silly to spend so much money on a house this large for this few people.
We were planning to sell the house next year, partly because Max is graduating soon, and it would be easier to wait until his life has settled (whether or not he was living with us would have an impact on what kind of house we'd buy), and partly because of the pandemic. Under Michigan's emergency declaration, real estate transactions were suspended. We COULDN'T sell.
But then two things happened.
First, the governor lifted her restriction on real estate. My thought was, "But who the heck would want to buy a house now?" Turns out I was asking the wrong question. I should have been asking, "Who the heck would want to SELL a house now?" Because a fair number of people want to buy houses, while very few people were putting their houses up for sale. Who wants potentially plague-ridden people to tromp through your house, right?
So we have a market where people do need to buy a house, but few are selling. The lopsided market means houses sell within hours--or even minutes--of hitting the market, according to Darwin's ex-but-still-friends Jim Powell. who runs a real estate agency.
Additionally, we can see financial troubles on the horizon. The legislators who oversee Michigan's budget are talking about a 20-25% reduction to school funding. This would certainly mean a gut-punch reduction of my salary and benefits. We soon may not be able to afford this house. If we didn't have to maintain a residence for Darwin in Albion, we'd be fine. But we do, so we aren't.
We decided it was better to sell the house now rather than lose it later. So we decided to list the house. This was on Friday. Little did we know what was coming . . .
comments
Really, this house is too big. Darwin is only here part-time. Hell, =I'm= only here part-time. The basement is literally an entire 1,300-foot second house, complete with kitchen and full bathroom, but we only use it to house my treadmill. We sent one of the dining sets to Albion for Darwin to use, so the dining room is an empty, echoing space. It's silly to spend so much money on a house this large for this few people.
We were planning to sell the house next year, partly because Max is graduating soon, and it would be easier to wait until his life has settled (whether or not he was living with us would have an impact on what kind of house we'd buy), and partly because of the pandemic. Under Michigan's emergency declaration, real estate transactions were suspended. We COULDN'T sell.
But then two things happened.
First, the governor lifted her restriction on real estate. My thought was, "But who the heck would want to buy a house now?" Turns out I was asking the wrong question. I should have been asking, "Who the heck would want to SELL a house now?" Because a fair number of people want to buy houses, while very few people were putting their houses up for sale. Who wants potentially plague-ridden people to tromp through your house, right?
So we have a market where people do need to buy a house, but few are selling. The lopsided market means houses sell within hours--or even minutes--of hitting the market, according to Darwin's ex-but-still-friends Jim Powell. who runs a real estate agency.
Additionally, we can see financial troubles on the horizon. The legislators who oversee Michigan's budget are talking about a 20-25% reduction to school funding. This would certainly mean a gut-punch reduction of my salary and benefits. We soon may not be able to afford this house. If we didn't have to maintain a residence for Darwin in Albion, we'd be fine. But we do, so we aren't.
We decided it was better to sell the house now rather than lose it later. So we decided to list the house. This was on Friday. Little did we know what was coming . . .
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May 7, 2020
The Plague Diaries: No Boredom Here
I get that lots of people are bored during stay-home orders. But I'm not one of them.
Every day, I spend considerable time with online teaching. I also run twice a day, write, and dip into social media. I have a house to run, with cooking and cleaning and grocery shopping to do. I go outside at least twice a day. I practice the harp.
On social media, I see people who say they're binging on this show, or they've worked through all the seasons of another, so what recommendations do people have now?
I have to say that when we went into lockdown, I figured I'd finally be one of the binge-watchers. I even got Disney+ so I could watch more stuff. It hasn't happened. If I watch an hour of TV, it's a big day.
I've been meaning to try my hand at this new dish or that new baking project. That hasn't happened, either. I just haven't had time.
And while I get restless, I'm never bored.
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Every day, I spend considerable time with online teaching. I also run twice a day, write, and dip into social media. I have a house to run, with cooking and cleaning and grocery shopping to do. I go outside at least twice a day. I practice the harp.
On social media, I see people who say they're binging on this show, or they've worked through all the seasons of another, so what recommendations do people have now?
I have to say that when we went into lockdown, I figured I'd finally be one of the binge-watchers. I even got Disney+ so I could watch more stuff. It hasn't happened. If I watch an hour of TV, it's a big day.
I've been meaning to try my hand at this new dish or that new baking project. That hasn't happened, either. I just haven't had time.
And while I get restless, I'm never bored.
comments
Beltaine 2020
Beltaine was weird this year. Because of, you know, the virus.
Beltaine these days is usually for setting up the outdoors, and I actually was able to do that. The governor allowed outdoor nurseries to re-open, and the weather was lovely and kind, so I masked up and went for it.
Keeping my distance from everyone, I bought a carload of hanging baskets and transplant flowers. These I hung around my front porch and placed on the stone altar in the back yard. I also planted a set of flowers in the large planters on the back deck and watered everything with fertilized water.
Our lawn guy, who is very meticulous at his job, had already done the spring cleanup and mowed the lawn. Since I don't enjoy this kind of work, I was happy to let him do it.
I set up the stone altar, placing my Goddess statues and my God figures on and around it with candles and other decorations, including a metal reproduction of the triple-spiral stone that guards the entrance to Newgrange in Ireland. I noticed that I'd placed the stone in such a way that one of the three spirals is hidden by another stone, an accidental symbol for the Hidden Mysteries.
That evening, I performed a Beltaine ritual while the spring peepers and mourning doves called all around me.
comments
Beltaine these days is usually for setting up the outdoors, and I actually was able to do that. The governor allowed outdoor nurseries to re-open, and the weather was lovely and kind, so I masked up and went for it.
Keeping my distance from everyone, I bought a carload of hanging baskets and transplant flowers. These I hung around my front porch and placed on the stone altar in the back yard. I also planted a set of flowers in the large planters on the back deck and watered everything with fertilized water.
Our lawn guy, who is very meticulous at his job, had already done the spring cleanup and mowed the lawn. Since I don't enjoy this kind of work, I was happy to let him do it.
I set up the stone altar, placing my Goddess statues and my God figures on and around it with candles and other decorations, including a metal reproduction of the triple-spiral stone that guards the entrance to Newgrange in Ireland. I noticed that I'd placed the stone in such a way that one of the three spirals is hidden by another stone, an accidental symbol for the Hidden Mysteries.
That evening, I performed a Beltaine ritual while the spring peepers and mourning doves called all around me.
comments
April 28, 2020
The Plague Diaries: World's Worst Summer Break
This feels like the world's worst summer break. Lemme explain.
Because I'm home all day, it feels like I'm on summer break. I wear what I want, eat when I please, exercise when I wish. I can play music or videos any time. BUT . . . I'm NOT on summer break. I have teaching duties, and lordy, there are a lot of them. I'm still putting in more time in the virtual classroom than I did in the actual classroom. I'm working, working, working.
Except that I'm NOT working in the classroom. And normally I don't bring classwork home. If I have papers to grade or lesson plans to make or whatever, I do it at work after the students leave for the day. I'd rather stay at work a couple hours late than take take anything home. On those rare occasions I =do= bring work home, I get grumbly and pissy about it. I'm HOME. Why I am doing school work here?
Now my classroom is at home. But 20-odd years of doing work at school has imprinted on my brain that at home, my job is an . . . intrusion. When I'm home for the day, I don't do school work! And when I'm home for days on end, I'm home for the summer and don't do school work!
But of course, I have to, and I do. I'm home, and I'm doing work. It feels like the world's worst summer break!
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Because I'm home all day, it feels like I'm on summer break. I wear what I want, eat when I please, exercise when I wish. I can play music or videos any time. BUT . . . I'm NOT on summer break. I have teaching duties, and lordy, there are a lot of them. I'm still putting in more time in the virtual classroom than I did in the actual classroom. I'm working, working, working.
Except that I'm NOT working in the classroom. And normally I don't bring classwork home. If I have papers to grade or lesson plans to make or whatever, I do it at work after the students leave for the day. I'd rather stay at work a couple hours late than take take anything home. On those rare occasions I =do= bring work home, I get grumbly and pissy about it. I'm HOME. Why I am doing school work here?
Now my classroom is at home. But 20-odd years of doing work at school has imprinted on my brain that at home, my job is an . . . intrusion. When I'm home for the day, I don't do school work! And when I'm home for days on end, I'm home for the summer and don't do school work!
But of course, I have to, and I do. I'm home, and I'm doing work. It feels like the world's worst summer break!
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April 22, 2020
Remaking Co Co Wheats
Remember Co Co Wheats? I didn't think so. Any time I mention them to people outside my own family, I'm met with blank looks, which feels weird. I mean, we ate them all the time when I was growing up. I still ate them as an adult. Co Co Wheats, for the uninitiated, are a hot chocolate cereal. They're actually a bit of a trick to make. You have to boil water with a bit of salt, then gradually add the Co Co Wheats and continue boiling for a minute. Careful! If you do it wrong, it boils over, or you get lumps, or the cereal comes out too thick or too thin. The trick is to use a fork or wire whisk to stir in the cereal. When it's done, you mix in sugar and milk and eat.
When I was little, every so often the cereal was too liquidy. Either my mother had gotten the proportion of water to cereal wrong, or I'd poured in too much milk. It happened to my brother and sister sometimes too. We always--always!--tried to thicken it by pouring in more sugar. When the cereal didn't thicken, we'd pour in more. And more! It made for some jittery mornings. The dishes are also a bitch-kitty to clean. If you don't soak the pot and the bowls, the cereal sets like cement and has to be scoured away.
Co Co Wheats were invented in the 1930s as a way to get kids to eat porridge, and they were extremely popular for a long time. Back in those days, moms had lots of time to cook breakfast and scour chocolate-flavored cement off their dishes. However, instant hot cereals showed up in the 70s and 80s, right around the time more moms entered the workplace and didn't have time to stand over a stove in the morning. In the 90s, breakfast became a grab-and-go kind of thing, and cooking a cereal that took a certain amount of skill and patience became even less appealing. Additionally, chocolate became less of a treat and more of a staple, meaning Co Co Wheats for breakfast weren't special or interesting to kids. Sales declined. Co Co Wheats hung on, but became harder to find in the store. I remember when I was a kid, it was shelved at eye-level for kids, prime "Mom, can we get these?" space. More lately, Co Co Wheats have been banished to the tippy-top shelf with Grape Nuts and Bran Flakes.
Darwin had never heard of Co Co Wheats and shouldn't eat them anyway. The boys never liked them much, either--in their view, there were better versions of chocolate around. But I liked them, and always kept a box in the kitchen, even if it took me most of a year to work my way through it by myself.
And then Co Co Wheats vanished from the local store. Gone. Not a sausage. For a dreadful moment, I thought MOM, the company that bought Co Co Wheats in the 2000s, had discontinued them at last. I hunted online (because we're staying at home these days and I don't have anything else to do), and discovered a store in my area still carries them--WalMart. No thanks. So I decided a piece of my childhood had finally disappeared.
But wait! I'm a chef!
Well, sort of. I like to mess around in the kitchen. Just this week, I created my own pumpkin pancake recipe to use up an old can of pumpkin and to see what they tasted like. Delicious! And I made a monte cristo sandwich for the first time. Mwah!
I also realized that Co Co Wheats must basically be farina with added cocoa. I could do that! So I set about trying it.
I bought some Cream of Wheat (a cereal my brother and sister and I hated when we were kids, by the way, though my grandmother swore by it--note the irony) and saw the cooking directions were much the same as Co Co Wheats. I was on the right track. My experience with cocoa, however, has taught me that cocoa dissolves better into something that's warm or hot. Cold makes it clump up. It would be a bad idea to add cocoa directly to the mix at the beginning. So I made a batch of Cream of Wh
eat, took it off the heat halfway through, whisked in a spoonful of cocoa, and returned it to heat to finish.
It came out dark, rich, and very thick. I had to thin it with a fair amount of milk. And I added aspartame. (Sugar is not so great for me these days.) I tasted it, and this version was richer, with a more powerful chocolate taste than the original. Superb!
Two other breakfast staples from my mid-Michigan upbringing: Smok-Y-Links and Spatz's bread toast. It's hard to get the latter down here--Spatz's bread, which first appeared in the 20s, is made only in the same tiny bakery up in Saginaw it's always been in, and they have a limited delivery range. So whenever I go up in that direction, I buy a couple dozen loaves and freeze them. Smok-Y-Links are still readily available everywhere, at least, so that's ONE thing that's easy.
I put all these things together and had a 70s meal!
So much fuss over breakfast. Next time, I'll probably just grab a bagel.
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When I was little, every so often the cereal was too liquidy. Either my mother had gotten the proportion of water to cereal wrong, or I'd poured in too much milk. It happened to my brother and sister sometimes too. We always--always!--tried to thicken it by pouring in more sugar. When the cereal didn't thicken, we'd pour in more. And more! It made for some jittery mornings. The dishes are also a bitch-kitty to clean. If you don't soak the pot and the bowls, the cereal sets like cement and has to be scoured away.
Co Co Wheats were invented in the 1930s as a way to get kids to eat porridge, and they were extremely popular for a long time. Back in those days, moms had lots of time to cook breakfast and scour chocolate-flavored cement off their dishes. However, instant hot cereals showed up in the 70s and 80s, right around the time more moms entered the workplace and didn't have time to stand over a stove in the morning. In the 90s, breakfast became a grab-and-go kind of thing, and cooking a cereal that took a certain amount of skill and patience became even less appealing. Additionally, chocolate became less of a treat and more of a staple, meaning Co Co Wheats for breakfast weren't special or interesting to kids. Sales declined. Co Co Wheats hung on, but became harder to find in the store. I remember when I was a kid, it was shelved at eye-level for kids, prime "Mom, can we get these?" space. More lately, Co Co Wheats have been banished to the tippy-top shelf with Grape Nuts and Bran Flakes.
Darwin had never heard of Co Co Wheats and shouldn't eat them anyway. The boys never liked them much, either--in their view, there were better versions of chocolate around. But I liked them, and always kept a box in the kitchen, even if it took me most of a year to work my way through it by myself.
And then Co Co Wheats vanished from the local store. Gone. Not a sausage. For a dreadful moment, I thought MOM, the company that bought Co Co Wheats in the 2000s, had discontinued them at last. I hunted online (because we're staying at home these days and I don't have anything else to do), and discovered a store in my area still carries them--WalMart. No thanks. So I decided a piece of my childhood had finally disappeared.
But wait! I'm a chef!
Well, sort of. I like to mess around in the kitchen. Just this week, I created my own pumpkin pancake recipe to use up an old can of pumpkin and to see what they tasted like. Delicious! And I made a monte cristo sandwich for the first time. Mwah!
I also realized that Co Co Wheats must basically be farina with added cocoa. I could do that! So I set about trying it.
I bought some Cream of Wheat (a cereal my brother and sister and I hated when we were kids, by the way, though my grandmother swore by it--note the irony) and saw the cooking directions were much the same as Co Co Wheats. I was on the right track. My experience with cocoa, however, has taught me that cocoa dissolves better into something that's warm or hot. Cold makes it clump up. It would be a bad idea to add cocoa directly to the mix at the beginning. So I made a batch of Cream of Wh
eat, took it off the heat halfway through, whisked in a spoonful of cocoa, and returned it to heat to finish.It came out dark, rich, and very thick. I had to thin it with a fair amount of milk. And I added aspartame. (Sugar is not so great for me these days.) I tasted it, and this version was richer, with a more powerful chocolate taste than the original. Superb!
Two other breakfast staples from my mid-Michigan upbringing: Smok-Y-Links and Spatz's bread toast. It's hard to get the latter down here--Spatz's bread, which first appeared in the 20s, is made only in the same tiny bakery up in Saginaw it's always been in, and they have a limited delivery range. So whenever I go up in that direction, I buy a couple dozen loaves and freeze them. Smok-Y-Links are still readily available everywhere, at least, so that's ONE thing that's easy.
I put all these things together and had a 70s meal!
So much fuss over breakfast. Next time, I'll probably just grab a bagel.
comments
April 20, 2020
The Plague Diaries: The Cats Are Having a Day
The cats are miserable. First, after seeing the one Joe Saul and Lisa Leutheuser have for their cat, I bought a cat feeder that forces the cats to hook food out of the feeder a piece or two at a time. This is to slow their eating (important for Dora "Miss Meatloaf") and give them something to do. But both of them are used to having food bowls, and they can't seem to understand the concept of working for their food. Whenever I walk toward the feeder, they rush ahead of me and stand next to it, looking up expectantly. "Why haven't you fed us?" I shake the feeder a little so a few bits of kibble drop out, and they gobble these down, then go back to staring up at me. I'm sure they'll figure it out eventually, but for now they're miserable.
Also, Raul the Roomba didn't vacuum the bedroom for some reason, so I put him inside it and closed the door. A moment later, there was a whole lot of violence noise and banging from inside the room. BOOM! WHAM! POW! I opened the door to see what on earth was going on, and both cats streaked away with their tails in full brush mode. Apparently they were both under the bed when I put Raul in there, and they reacted like Sylvester the Cat being locked in with the bulldog.
They're having a day.
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Also, Raul the Roomba didn't vacuum the bedroom for some reason, so I put him inside it and closed the door. A moment later, there was a whole lot of violence noise and banging from inside the room. BOOM! WHAM! POW! I opened the door to see what on earth was going on, and both cats streaked away with their tails in full brush mode. Apparently they were both under the bed when I put Raul in there, and they reacted like Sylvester the Cat being locked in with the bulldog.
They're having a day.
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