Standards
Standards. something established by authority, custom, or general consent as a model or example.
Every state (or region) has something unique about that area that it imparts on its citizenry. Access to the open ocean certainly colors the lifestyle of those living on both coasts. Can you say boating and beach anyone? The desert landscape out west makes for very mild winters and an abundance of sun. Mountains? Yup, we got them too. Other areas tend to hang their hat on types of food, like for example, barbeque (think Memphis, Kansas City, etc), or crab (Baltimore). My heritage “genes” are no different. By virtue of being born and raised in Western New York, I earned my doctorate in chicken wings and snowfall.
I grew up where chicken wings were freely given out by bars/restaurants as an inducement to drinking more. Since one usually “served” themselves a helping, there was usually a scarcity of napkins; hence, the protocol of licking your fingers to rid them of excess sauce (still my preferred method). Speaking of sauce, the only true Buffalo chicken wing is coated with hot sauce. One was “allowed” some celery or blue cheese as an accompaniment to soften the heat from the hot wings (note to readers: ordering these new-fangled sauces is like getting Mexican food in Kentucky - it may hit the spot, but it’s not authentic!). Finally, if an establishment were to be so gauche as to charge for the wings, it was a nominal fee at best (usually $0.10/wing).
Alas, much has changed in the chicken wing world in the ensuing years and it takes great intestinal fortitude for me to hold my anger at the very concept of “boneless wings”. They are merely pieces of chicken-by-product breaded and formed to fool the silly rubes amongst us. Please, I say (begging), stop the desecration of my heritage right now. If NO BONE, they are not chicken wings! Where will all of this end? Am I the only one left upholding the standards of yesteryear?
Can’t that be enough? Nope, I am now fighting the war on the other front: Snowfall. It’s important to note I detest cold weather and have told my wife that the reason we settled in the Midwest was to avoid the snowy climate in which we both hail from. In the 28 years I have lived in the Milwaukee area, we have yet to experience a snowy winter by the standards of Western New York. Mostly, it is the absence of “lake effect” snow that communities abutting Lake Erie & Lake Ontario must live with, literally on a daily basis. Since our snowfall in SE Wisconsin is miniscule by comparison, I have elected snowfall as the other standard in which I cannot allow the marching of time to affect me.
My wife thinks I’m nuts.
Others may break out their fancy snowblowers when Mother Nature gives us a two inch dusting; not me. A quick shoveling seems vigorous and I may even silently thank her for the much-needed exercise. Sometimes she tests me with a heavier offering to see if I can take it. No problem Mother N, is this all you’ve got? Make it a real challenge, I say, and throw in some sideway winds and bitter cold – I can handle it. As my neighbors crank up their new, fancy snowblowers with names such as Ariens, Toro, and Snapper, I quietly look at my arsenal of shovels hanging in the garage and wonder which one will be the lucky shovel today. Will it be Old Reliable, last year’s model with the frayed bottom (but kind and gentle handle)? New Plastic, who promises a clean sweep with no stick? Or do I spread the wealth around, thereby giving the youngster some much-needed experience while closing with the veteran down by the road where the lifting may be heavy? Those are the decisions I must wrestle with in order to preserve my snow dignity.
I feel better already for having shared with you, dear readers, two standards that I must adhere to. As noted, though, my wife has other ideas on the subject and questions my sanity each time the weatherman calls for white stuff to fall from the clouds. Nonetheless, I am a man on a mission.
My wife has abandoned these standards and says I’m out-of-touch with reality. Help me show her she is mistaken. Pledge to meet me halfway. Shovel if the snowfall is 3” or less. Do not embarrass yourself and order “boneless wings” (they are not wings!). We need to start small to reverse these decaying standards; even if it means one chicken wing or one shovelful at a time. What remains of my Western New York heritage needs to survive.
by Lee Clement posted 12/29/2020
