The Weekly Newspaper serving the citizens of Morenci, Mich., Fayette, Ohio, and surrounding areas.

  • Snow.2
    FIRST SNOW—Heavy, wet flakes piled deep on tree branches—and windshields—as the area received its first significant snowfall of the season. “Usually it begins with a dusting or two,” said George Isobar, Morenci’s observer for the National Weather Service, “but this time it came with a vengeance.” By the end of the day Saturday, a little over four inches of snow was on the ground. Now comes the thaw with temperatures in the 40s and 50s for three days.
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    SKEWERS, gumdrops, and marshmallows are all that’s needed to create interesting shapes and designs for Layla McDowell Saturday at Stair District Library’s “Sculptamania!” Open House. The program featuring design games and materials is one part of a larger project funded by a $7,500 Curiosity Creates grant from Disney and the American Library Association. Additional photos are on page 7.
    Morenci marching band members took to the field Friday night dressed for Halloween during the Bulldog’s first playoff game. Morenci fans had a bit of a scare until the fourth quarter when the Bulldogs scored 30 points to leave Lenawee Christian School behind. Whiteford visits Morenci this Friday for the district championship game. From the left is Clayton Borton, Morgan Merillat and James O’Brien.
    DNA PUZZLE—Mitchell Storrs and Wyatt Mohr tackle a puzzle representing the structure of DNA. There’s only one correct way for all the pieces to fit. It’s one of the new materials that can be used in both biology and chemistry classes, said teacher Loretta Cox.
  • Front.tar.wide
    A TRAFFIC control worker stands in the middle of Morenci’s Main Street Tuesday morning, waiting for the next flow of vehicles to be let through from the west. The dusty gravel surface was sealed with a layer of tar, leaving only the application of paint for new striping. The project was completed in conjunction with county road commission work west of Morenci.
  • Front.pull
    JUNIORS Jazmin Smith and Trevor Corkle struggle against a team from the sophomore class Friday during the annual tug of war at the Homecoming Games pep rally. Even the seniors struggled against the sophomores who won the competition. At the main course of the day, the Bulldog football team struggled against Whiteford in a homecoming loss.
    YOUNG soccer players surived a chilly morning Saturday in Morenci’s PTO league. From the left is Emma Cordts, Wayne Corser, Carter and Levi Seitz, Briella York and Drew Joughin. Two more weeks of soccer remain for this season.
  • Front.ropes
    BOWEN BAUMGARTNER of Morenci makes his way across a rope bridge constructed by the Tecumseh Boy Scout troop Sunday at Lake Hudson Recreation Area. The bridge was one of many challenges, displays and games set up for the annual Youth Jamboree by the Michigan DNR. Additional photos on are the back page of this week’s Observer.
  • Front.homecoming Court
    One of four senior candidates will be crowned the fall homecoming queen during half-time of this week’s Morenci-Whiteford football game. In the back row (left to right) is exchange student Kinga Vidor (her escort will be Caylob Alcock), seniors Alli VanBrandt (escorted by Sam Cool), Larissa Elliott (escorted by Clayton Borton), Samantha Wright (escorted by JJ Elarton) and Justis McCowan (escorted by Austin Gilson), and exchange student Rebecca Rosenberger (escorted by Garrett Smith). Front row freshman court member Allie Kaiser (escorted by Anthony Thomas), sophomore Marlee Blaker (escorted by Nate Elarton) and junior Cheyenne Stone (escorted by Dominick Sell).
  • Front.park.lights
    GETTING READY—Jerad Gleckler pounds nails to secure a string of holiday lights on the side of the Wakefield Park concession stand while other members of the Volunteer Club and others hold them in place. The volunteers showed up Sunday afternoon to string lights at the park. The decorating project will continue this Sunday. Denise Walsh is in charge of the effort this year.
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2010.01.06 My soup is your soup

Written by David Green.

My soup is your soup


I hate to admit it, but David is usually right—about everything. For example, when I continued to look for a full-time job while pregnant with Ben, David proposed that I be a stay-at-home mom. 

The idea that I not work, not pull my weight, was totally foreign to me. My mother had worked as far back as I could remember and I just figured I would, too. 

Luckily for me, the economy in Michigan in 1982 was about as thriving as it is now, and I never did find a job. It didn’t take me too many minutes after Ben was born to know that David had been right all along.

I have to give him major credit and many kudos for his innate wisdom and support of my stay-at-home years. But I must balance that praise with this assertion: the man is wacko when it comes to soup.

On New Year’s Eve, David mentioned that he wanted to make soup the next day.

“Me too, I said, “I’ve been wanting to make lentil soup.”

Really, I wanted to make a lentil dish we’d once been served at the Pillows’ house back when they were practicing vegetarians.

But we didn’t have any spinach and I didn’t anticipate running out to the store on New Year’s Day, so I envisaged the next best thing...lentil soup with chopped tomatoes.

I get easily distracted and would have passed on making soup altogether, but David threatened me. 

“Let me know if you aren’t going to make it because I will,” he said.

That was more than an idle threat. David’s soups are odd, often bland, affairs. I can handle them, but Ben and Sarah would be returning home from Up North before their trip back to Miami. I thought it might be good to have on hand soup fit for general consumption. 

But there were no canned tomatoes in the cupboard. I was losing interest in the soup, but I opened the bottom cupboard and started passing onions up to the countertop and soon David started peeling them. I figured I’d get out the carrots and peel them and he could take over from there.

Just about the time I declared I didn’t want potatoes in the soup, I could see this was leaning more toward my soup. I scrounged around in the fridge for the celery and started measuring lentils into another pan to which I also added a cup of brown rice.

”I’m doing this in deference to you,” I said, referring to the rice, as he added oil to the soup pot.

“Don’t do it for me,” he said. “It’s your soup.”

“Where’s the red chili?” he asked.

“You mean the chili powder or the red peppers?”

“I don’t care. Tell me where they both are and then I’ll know.”

“How can you put chili powder in there and tell me it’s my soup?” I asked.

He didn’t respond, but a few minutes later, he showed me his yellowish orange fingers.

“Ew, turmeric? Or carrot. Must be carrot,” I concluded with relief, as I eyed him chopping the four huge carrots I’d just peeled.

But then I looked in the soup pot and the bright yellow onions gave it away. Turmeric in soup?

He read something somewhere about the health benefits of turmeric and now puts it in everything—even his morning oatmeal. I am not so open-minded when it comes to spices; it grosses me out every time I see him put turmeric where it doesn’t belong.

At every turn, when I asked a question about putting in this or that, he’d amiably say, “Do what you want. It’s your soup.” But that didn’t stop him from secretly slipping in sesame oil or the dreaded turmeric.

“Would it make you cry if I put the turkey water in?” I meant turkey broth...leftover turkey broth frozen after Thanksgiving.

“Cry?” he asked, bemused that anything regarding soup should make him cry.

“Cringe?” I asked, substituting a more accurate word. 

“Do what you want to do.“ he said. “It’s your soup!”

Maddie arrived home just at the end of the soup making with a McDonald’s bag in hand.

“McDonald’s? That’s no way to start the new year,” I said.

“What smells in here?” she asked. “I got apple slices,” she said in response to my judgmental McDonald’s comment.

“Soup,” I said, gesturing to the pot. “That’s the way to start the new year.”

Maddie didn’t look convinced.

“You want some lentils and rice separate?” I asked as I started pouring the cooked lentil-rice mixture into the soup pot.

“No,” she said with a look of disgust.

“You want soup!” I concluded brightly, as if that option was the only alternative.

“Ew, no!” she said, looking into the pot.

Hmm, maybe I’m no better than David at making soup.

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