February 23, 2018 - Friday
27 degrees/snow/calm winds
Pentoga Road

Oh sure, you might know, we're less than an hour away from leaving for our annual Milligan Sister Winter Retreat and we wake to find that snow has been pounding down all night.

Fear not! The trusty old Blazer is ready to be put into service, all four wheels locked into place, each pulling us to our destination through thick or thin... or several inches of snow.

Once home from Iron Mountain on Thursday, Sargie and I fiddled around doing this or that, accomplishing quite a bit, yet not anything worth writing about. Unless... you consider that we spent time making popcorn for this weekend's outing.

I don't like to brag, but when it comes to popcorn, I've been taught by the best. Dad.

There were two things Dad could do better than anyone else in the whole, wide, world, flip pancakes high into the air and pop corn.

I remember as a small child watching Dad pour the oil into the skillet, then letting it heat as he revealed that the secret to popping good corn was never to bruise the kernels as they were being poured in and consequently shaken back and forth over the burner.

He went through all the motions of oohing and aahing and when enough corn was added, he'd say, "See there Charlie, not one kernel was bruised. Now we gently shake."

As a little boy, I believed him. Even when my boys were small, I passed down the family secret of making good popcorn and would be willing to bet that not one kernel has been bruised by a Pennington boy.

The old skillet and lid have been replaced by a more modern popper, but the thought is the same. NEVER bruise a kernel.

I had a helper yesterday. Sargie had good intentions, but having Sargie as a co-popper is like taking a three-year-old berry picking.

One piece in the bowl, four in the mouth, one in the bowl, four in the mouth.

Don't lie Sargie. You've been caught in the act.

It's a good thing I could pop the stuff faster than she could eat it or else we'd have little to contribute.

Sargie's in the shower. I'm not even going to attempt to clean the drive. I see we're to get several more inches of snow yet this weekend. I'll worry about plowing and snowblowing when we arrive back home Sunday afternoon. Sargie's off Monday, so I'll be in no hurry.

It's time to fire up the old Blazer, check the tires, the oil, the wiper fluid, and call on the trusty old Alaskan steed to get us to our destination.

After all, a man's work is never done.

So are the tales from Pentoga Road...