Editorial | Blueberry muffins and shirt pockets | Dennis Box

Blueberry Muffins

Some of us know how to take it easy.

Ron Harmon, who retired from the Kent City Council after two terms, is less visible these days, but he has not exactly put the engine in neutral.

On Christmas morning at about 5 a.m. he could’ve been seen slipping into the Kent Police Station with a Santa bag full of with blueberry muffins.

Every Christmas for the past seven years Harmon has made it a tradition to bake eight or nine dozen batches of blueberry muffins on Christmas Eve and deliver them to the police officers around the change of shift.

Harmon starts cooking early the morning of Christmas Eve.

“I’ve inherited some large muffin pans and it takes me about three hours in the kitchen,” Harmon said. “It’s a labor of love.”

He makes a couple of dozen at a time using the Krusteaz blueberry muffin mix, which he said was his favorite.

The next step is delivering the muffins to the station to outgoing shift and incoming officers.

“They’re working on Christmas Day so I try to bring them a little bit of sunshine,” Harmon said.

In his off time now that he has left the council dais, Harmon spends more time enjoying his three grandchildren, Matthew, 6, Hayden, 5 and Isabella, 3.

“I’m trying to stay out of the influence business,” Harmon said. “I only speak when asked. I am reacquainting myself with flying.”

He flies a 1947 Cessna 120.

“It’s not as old as I am,” he said.

The life of leisure according to Ron Harmon – sounds pretty good.

A Pocketful full of Pens – or not

I have one more Christmas note before I wrap up the yuletide season of 2011.

I ran into a Christmas fashion crises shortly after the dawn of the new year. I realize the word fashion probably isn’t necessarily the first thing associated with me, but let me continue.

My daughter, Katy, decided her dad not only knows nothing, but can no longer dress himself.

Katy decided she would take it upon herself to buy me clothes that “fit.”

God save me.

I tried to convince her I prefer everything I wear to have air space for safety reasons. Lots of air space.

According to “Little Miss Know Everything” I am supposed to wear things that fit according to her.

OK. I put up with her theory, which I never really listened to because I was secretly planning to wear whatever I wanted once she went back to college.

The first crises came on Christmas Day when she tried to toss out all my old clothes. I nearly had a stroke. These are shirts and pants I broke in years ago. They had all the air spaces in the right places.

As a bargaining chip I agreed to wear her shirts right after New Year’s Day. I was reminded I violated the father oath when she was about 4 or 5. She wanted to watch Mary Poppins on tape (for the 10,000th time). I told her a slightly altered version of reality. I said the tape was just not working, sorry honey, we will just have to watch the darn Super Bowl.

Some nefarious do-gooder told her the truth and it has been used against me ever since.

OK, back to the clothes.

Because I didn’t want to be accused of oath breaking again, the first day after the holidays I put on the shirt she got me.

It took me a while to realize there was a serious problem.

The shirt had no pocket. I couldn’t believe it – not even one. I thought only shirts designed for John Travolta came without pockets – at least one – the more the better. This one had none. I have things to put in my shirt pockets, like my dumb phone, pens, torn up pieces of paper with nothing on them.

I called Katy and immediately started whining.

I was informed she and her friend Tiffany decided this was the shirt I should wear and to stop being a baby.

I was a mess all day, but somehow I survived. I walked around constantly trying to put my pen in my pocket and all it would do is fall to the floor.

Finally, I decided to live through it.

The next day I got up, put on another of the Christmas shirts… and sure enough no pocket.

One was bad enough, here I am stuck with two useless shirts.

I called Katy and asked if I could staple a pocket on the shirts. She was not what I call fashion supportive.

I was sitting at the Covington City Council meeting Tuesday night taking a poll and all the men I saw had pockets, except me.

And I am getting very little sympathy at the office for my plight.

Apparently, I will be living a new life for 2012 as pocketless near Seattle.