I can't believe how long it's been since I posted; I had to go back and re-read my last blog to understand how negligent I've been. In my own defense, I left for Louisville a few days after the last post, and I made the decision not to write while I was gone. I went south (not exactly--Louisville is actually north from here, but it feels like the South) and Michael went north, to Maine, the next day. Paranoia made me think I shouldn't divulge that we were both out of town at the same time. So sue me.
I went to my forty-fifth high school reunion yesterday afternoon. I missed the last four--and the sixtieth birthday party three years ago--for various reasons. Thus, it had been at least 25 years since I had seen almost every one of those people. The two I spent the most time with at the 20th reunion are both dead now; I wasn't sure what this one would be like, but I was determined to go.I had in my mind that now that we were all 63, the old insecurities would be gone, and I was right. At this point, who had held what job, who had gone to what college, who had made a lot or a little bit on money, who had maintained a physique and who hadn't, didn't seem to matter at all. People I barely talked to in high school, because we were in different classes or ran in different circles, came up to me, happy to see me, eager to know what I'd been up to. Girls who had been good friends were friendly, cordial, occasionally indifferent. Guys I wouldn't have spoken to in school out of awe or simple shyness were affectionate, animated. We talked about grandchildren, retirement, our parents, our future plans. We spent half an hour remembering the 24 (out of 175!) of our classmates who are dead now, and we tossed a wreath in the river in their memories. We ate crabs and hot dogs, drank beer and wine and soda, danced a little to an oldies band. Mostly, though, we talked, and talked, and talked. We talked to our classmates and we talked to their spouses or significant others. We joked about our common ailments and shared our happiness that we weren't among the twenty-four. We exchanged email addresses and phone numbers, urged people to sign up on Facebook
I don't think Michael really wanted to go; he never said that to me, but he acted as if he was fulfilling a duty as he got ready. In the car, he was angry because I didn't know the exact address or even which road to take to get to Dan and Ginger's estate--and I do mean estate--on the river outside of Cambridge. Not too long after we got there, however, Michael began to talk to people I introduced him to and then to a few of the people he knew already. I've often said he's never met a stranger, and that's pretty much how it went all evening. At the 20th reunion we were joined at the hip; yesterday we were apart more than we were together. Occasionally we would make eye contact, just to ensure that the other person was all right with the way things were going. At one point we decided to leave, but then we were sidetracked by new people and conversations. For a little while, we just sat and looked out over the river, but then people came to us and the conversations started again.
All the way home Michael questioned me about this person and that one. What were they like in high school? Which one was he? What did so-and-so do after high school? Luckily, the reunion committee had put together a booklet with our senior portraits, our current names and addresses, and blurbs and photos that we sent in to update everyone. As Michael said this morning, "You would think it was my high school reunion considering how much I care about these people." We've both pored over the blurbs and photos and portraits, trying to put faces and names and memories together.
It was a good day. As I told several people last night, and as they told me in return, whether we stay in touch outside of these reunions doesn't really matter; what matters is that these were the people with whom we spent some of the best and some of the worst times of our lives. We shared early fun, teen angst, identity crises, little victories--unforgettable memories. And since each of us has his/her own memories, sharing them becomes an exercise in humility, revelation, and hilarity. There were few regrets, but there were some. There was an acknowledgment of the unforgivable bullying of one classmate and his total forgiveness of it.
Many of us acknowledged not being comfortable in high school, but all that was wiped out by our comfort with each other today. I couldn't be happier that I was there. I'll attend the fiftieth if I'm able, and I hope the 24 won't have grown, not even by one.
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Monday, June 6, 2011
The Wimmin Strike Again!
One of the best things about being a woman is having female friends. Whether one's marriage is great, good, bad, or nonexistent, female friends, if they are good ones, are comforting, entertaining, supportive, and absolutely necessary. Men have friends, but usually not the kinds of friends that women have. And perhaps the saddest thing in the world is to be a woman with no women friends. I don't mean acquaintances, either; I mean real friends with whom you can share everything, knowing your secrets are safe, knowing that they love you unconditionally. There's no jealousy, no idle gossip, no back-biting. These are the people you could call in the middle of the night, the ones who would hold your hair back if you were throwing up, who would drive to your house to take care of you if you were alone and needed care.
I have such a group of friends; we call ourselves The Wimmin, and each of us has a special wimmin's name.
There are six wimmin: Lucy, Ethel, Dagmar, Audrey, Demonia, and Maxine. .Five of us--sans Maxine--took a girls' overnight to Tyson's Corner, Virginia, this past Saturday. We secured excellent and economical lodging thanks to Demonia's daughter, who works for the hotel chain and got us the friends and family rate. Before we checked in, we went to the Silver Diner for lunch. It was, as always, excellent, except that Audrey, with so little flesh on her bones, was cold. Next we drove to the hotel and checked into three rooms. Audrey's main goal was to bask in and around the pool. The rest of us wanted to do some shopping. We started by driving a mile or two to the Container Store, home of all things for organizing, storing, or otherwise holding everything. We were there a long time and we bought lots of stuff--a case of clear shoe boxes, folders for school papers, colored clothespins, a folding drying rack. From there we went to the TC Center, a very large mall with lots of great stores. We introduced Dagmar to Levenger's, home of the Circa organizing system, fine leather accessories and high-end pens. She got a free gift. Then we went to Sephora and bought girlie stuff--lotions and lipsticks and combs--oh, my! We stopped in several department stores, clothing stores, and assorted other places looking for a purse for Demonia to carry when she attends a wedding in a couple of weeks. No luck there--our choices were either the wrong size, the wrong color, or, worst of all, the wrong price. Who woulda thunk it? $350 for an envelope clutch? Yow!!
When we were all in, we called Audrey--who had stayed in the pool for three hours--and told her we were coming to get her so we could all go to dinner. She had asked if we could have Thai food for dinner, so we found a place in the mall that was well-reviewed, and it lived up to those reviews. I don't remember its name, but I think it is the only Thai restaurant in the Tyson's Corner Center. The food was quite good, very flavorful. We saved dessert for the room, however.
Before we left the center to get Cynthia, we had stopped at the Godiva store and bought a box of 16 assorted truffles. Our plan was to get into our jammies, meet in one room, and watch a movie, so that's what we did. The selection on the pay-per-view wasn't great, but we decided on the latest version of Jane Eyre. It was rather dark and gloomy, in the way that it always is, but it was a pretty good version of the book. We ate truffles, opened a bottle of champagne, and lounged. Around 11, we all scattered to our rooms and went to bed. Demonia, who had a room to herself, had a wonderful night's sleep. Lucy and Dagmar played tag-team snoring, until Lucy went into A-fib and had to get up to take medicine. After almost two hours and two doses of meds, she finally converted .Over in Ethel and Audrey's room, however, bad things were happening. Ethel had been feeling stuffy and bloated earlier in the evening, but sometime in the night she woke up with nausea and unpleasantness in the bowel area. She and Audrey didn't get much sleep. In the morning, Audrey got her some ginger ale and left her alone, as was her wish. The other four of us went back to the Silver Diner for breakfast--most excellent once again--and then back to the mall for some last minute shopping. We knew Ethel needed her sleep or needed to be left alone close to a bathroom, so we felt we were doing her a favor.
We went into a few more places, including both Barnes and Noble and a henna tattoo kiosk, and then headed back to the hotel to pack and check out.
Luckily for her, Ethel was feeling better, but Audrey drove so she could relax. Demonia was going in a different direction, so we said our good-byes and headed off.
I'll be back tomorrow with the adventures that didn't start until we tried to leave Virginia; suffice it to say it involves Sunday elections and Peruvians by the thousands, not to mention an entirely unintended drive through our nation's capital.
Good night.
I have such a group of friends; we call ourselves The Wimmin, and each of us has a special wimmin's name.
There are six wimmin: Lucy, Ethel, Dagmar, Audrey, Demonia, and Maxine. .Five of us--sans Maxine--took a girls' overnight to Tyson's Corner, Virginia, this past Saturday. We secured excellent and economical lodging thanks to Demonia's daughter, who works for the hotel chain and got us the friends and family rate. Before we checked in, we went to the Silver Diner for lunch. It was, as always, excellent, except that Audrey, with so little flesh on her bones, was cold. Next we drove to the hotel and checked into three rooms. Audrey's main goal was to bask in and around the pool. The rest of us wanted to do some shopping. We started by driving a mile or two to the Container Store, home of all things for organizing, storing, or otherwise holding everything. We were there a long time and we bought lots of stuff--a case of clear shoe boxes, folders for school papers, colored clothespins, a folding drying rack. From there we went to the TC Center, a very large mall with lots of great stores. We introduced Dagmar to Levenger's, home of the Circa organizing system, fine leather accessories and high-end pens. She got a free gift. Then we went to Sephora and bought girlie stuff--lotions and lipsticks and combs--oh, my! We stopped in several department stores, clothing stores, and assorted other places looking for a purse for Demonia to carry when she attends a wedding in a couple of weeks. No luck there--our choices were either the wrong size, the wrong color, or, worst of all, the wrong price. Who woulda thunk it? $350 for an envelope clutch? Yow!!
When we were all in, we called Audrey--who had stayed in the pool for three hours--and told her we were coming to get her so we could all go to dinner. She had asked if we could have Thai food for dinner, so we found a place in the mall that was well-reviewed, and it lived up to those reviews. I don't remember its name, but I think it is the only Thai restaurant in the Tyson's Corner Center. The food was quite good, very flavorful. We saved dessert for the room, however.
Before we left the center to get Cynthia, we had stopped at the Godiva store and bought a box of 16 assorted truffles. Our plan was to get into our jammies, meet in one room, and watch a movie, so that's what we did. The selection on the pay-per-view wasn't great, but we decided on the latest version of Jane Eyre. It was rather dark and gloomy, in the way that it always is, but it was a pretty good version of the book. We ate truffles, opened a bottle of champagne, and lounged. Around 11, we all scattered to our rooms and went to bed. Demonia, who had a room to herself, had a wonderful night's sleep. Lucy and Dagmar played tag-team snoring, until Lucy went into A-fib and had to get up to take medicine. After almost two hours and two doses of meds, she finally converted .Over in Ethel and Audrey's room, however, bad things were happening. Ethel had been feeling stuffy and bloated earlier in the evening, but sometime in the night she woke up with nausea and unpleasantness in the bowel area. She and Audrey didn't get much sleep. In the morning, Audrey got her some ginger ale and left her alone, as was her wish. The other four of us went back to the Silver Diner for breakfast--most excellent once again--and then back to the mall for some last minute shopping. We knew Ethel needed her sleep or needed to be left alone close to a bathroom, so we felt we were doing her a favor.
We went into a few more places, including both Barnes and Noble and a henna tattoo kiosk, and then headed back to the hotel to pack and check out.
Luckily for her, Ethel was feeling better, but Audrey drove so she could relax. Demonia was going in a different direction, so we said our good-byes and headed off.
I'll be back tomorrow with the adventures that didn't start until we tried to leave Virginia; suffice it to say it involves Sunday elections and Peruvians by the thousands, not to mention an entirely unintended drive through our nation's capital.
Good night.
Thursday, June 2, 2011
The Post-Birthday Letdown (to be sung to the tune of "10th Ave Freeze Out")
Birthdays come and birthdays go. Mine was a quiet affair, but with tons of friendly greetings from all over the country. I got cards from Pennsylvania and Maine, singing phone calls from Delaware and Alabama, and Facebook wishes from as far away as Florida. Michael took me to Thomas's Gardens on the Eastern Shore of Virginia and bought me a beautiful Japanese red maple, the kind with the lacy leaves. It's going to be put in the side yard next to the driveway and will grow slowly over the next few years until it becomes a large living bonsai.(I know all bonsais are living, but we're not going to stunt the growth of this one.) We were told that it will not get very tall, but that it will be quite large eventually.
The birthday brought with it overeating: we had a healthy breakfast of cantaloupe, Jimmy Dean D-Lite breakfast sandwiches, and coffee. Sadly, everything went downhill from there. We went to Sonic in Oak Hall for lunch before we picked up the tree. I had a quarter-pound foot-long chili Coney dog and a diet Cherry lime-aid. Michael had two Chicago-style hot dogs, onion rings, and a cherry lime-aid chiller--whipped up ice cream and whipped cream on top.Then after we got home and did all our chores, we went out to Famous Dave's. I had the brisket platter with cole slaw and fries, Ben had the rib and brisket combo with fries and mac and cheese, and Michael had the XXL ribs with cole slaw and beans. Ben and I had bottles of Yuengling and Michael had iced tea--BECAUSE THEY NO LONGER CARRY YUENGLING ON DRAFT! Sons of bitches! We were stuffed, but what else is new? Michael and Ben got carry-out boxes for their leftover ribs.
After dinner, I got a free hot fudge sundae because it was my birthday, but I wanted a root beer float. I assumed it would be one of their mini sundaes since it was free, so I ordered the float, too.
OMG!!
The sundae was delivered in a soup plate with three spoons. It had three large scoops of vanilla ice cream, three equally large scoops of whipped cream, and gooey fudge sauce strewn all over the whole thing. Ben didn't want any, and Michael didn't really either, but he forced himself, leaving two thirds of it there. I had to take care of the float all by myself. It, of course, was a giant sundae glass with about four scoops of vanilla ice cream accompanied by a carafe of root beer, at least twenty ounces, easily more, to pour in as I wanted. It was delicious, exactly the perfect end to my birthday--had I eaten nothing else all day.
The hangover from too much food is worse than from too much booze. The guilt, the stomach-wrenching agony, the late night trips to the bathroom, the belching and farting--well, I guess it's actually the same as any other hangover.
But today I'm in a post-birthday torpor. I just watched Satisfaction, not a great film by any stretch, but an interesting look at the early work of Julia Roberts and Liam Neeson, as well as the "sliding-down-into-my-last-work" efforts of Justine Bateman and Trini Alvarez. The sound track wasn't great either, but it was better than the movie.
My next decision is whether to take a shower now or later. It's 1:40 in the afternoon and I'm still in my PJs because I can be. There is probably something I should do today, but I can't think of what it is. So I'll stop thinking.
Have a great day!
The birthday brought with it overeating: we had a healthy breakfast of cantaloupe, Jimmy Dean D-Lite breakfast sandwiches, and coffee. Sadly, everything went downhill from there. We went to Sonic in Oak Hall for lunch before we picked up the tree. I had a quarter-pound foot-long chili Coney dog and a diet Cherry lime-aid. Michael had two Chicago-style hot dogs, onion rings, and a cherry lime-aid chiller--whipped up ice cream and whipped cream on top.Then after we got home and did all our chores, we went out to Famous Dave's. I had the brisket platter with cole slaw and fries, Ben had the rib and brisket combo with fries and mac and cheese, and Michael had the XXL ribs with cole slaw and beans. Ben and I had bottles of Yuengling and Michael had iced tea--BECAUSE THEY NO LONGER CARRY YUENGLING ON DRAFT! Sons of bitches! We were stuffed, but what else is new? Michael and Ben got carry-out boxes for their leftover ribs.
After dinner, I got a free hot fudge sundae because it was my birthday, but I wanted a root beer float. I assumed it would be one of their mini sundaes since it was free, so I ordered the float, too.
OMG!!
The sundae was delivered in a soup plate with three spoons. It had three large scoops of vanilla ice cream, three equally large scoops of whipped cream, and gooey fudge sauce strewn all over the whole thing. Ben didn't want any, and Michael didn't really either, but he forced himself, leaving two thirds of it there. I had to take care of the float all by myself. It, of course, was a giant sundae glass with about four scoops of vanilla ice cream accompanied by a carafe of root beer, at least twenty ounces, easily more, to pour in as I wanted. It was delicious, exactly the perfect end to my birthday--had I eaten nothing else all day.
The hangover from too much food is worse than from too much booze. The guilt, the stomach-wrenching agony, the late night trips to the bathroom, the belching and farting--well, I guess it's actually the same as any other hangover.
But today I'm in a post-birthday torpor. I just watched Satisfaction, not a great film by any stretch, but an interesting look at the early work of Julia Roberts and Liam Neeson, as well as the "sliding-down-into-my-last-work" efforts of Justine Bateman and Trini Alvarez. The sound track wasn't great either, but it was better than the movie.
My next decision is whether to take a shower now or later. It's 1:40 in the afternoon and I'm still in my PJs because I can be. There is probably something I should do today, but I can't think of what it is. So I'll stop thinking.
Have a great day!
Saturday, May 28, 2011
Tis the Season
Yesterday, Michael picked two quarts of strawberries, and it was hard work. The berries were tiny and sparse. Then we stopped at a stand and bought four more quarts. .The season is winding down, and since we've had few or none for the last several years, we decided this was the year to get some. We put four quarts into freezer jam a week or so ago. Now I have four quarts capped and frozen whole for smoothies in the middle of winter. The ones Michael picked yesterday are going straight into our pie holes, as they are too delicious to put off for anything other than straight eating. We ate almost a whole quart last night, lightly sugared, with very lightly sweetened fresh whipped cream. Yum!!
Michael is very tolerant of my lack of ambition when it comes to stoop labor. I don't mind picking blueberries because I can stand to do that. Strawberries, though, require squatting, an activity I am morally and physically opposed to. Luckily, I also have a neurosurgeon who has told me not to do squats until after my surgery next year. So I'm free to read while Michael picks the berries. Life is good!
Since Memorial Day is upon us, I have decided that the time is right to take the Santas off my mantle. Those who know me well are aware that I stretch out the Yuletide season as long as I can make it, sometimes not dismantling the Christmas tree until Easter beckons. While I do have a huge artificial Christmas wreath hanging on the brick wall in our family room that stays up all year, and a cabinet filled with Santas in my bedroom, I usually put away the ones I scatter throughout the house much earlier. This year, though, the spirit to stow them didn't move me until today, so that will be one of my little chores for a holiday weekend. My doing that will make Michael happy.
I'll also get around to inventorying the freezer, which I still haven't done. Other than that, my weekend is free, just the way I like it. Have a good one!
Michael is very tolerant of my lack of ambition when it comes to stoop labor. I don't mind picking blueberries because I can stand to do that. Strawberries, though, require squatting, an activity I am morally and physically opposed to. Luckily, I also have a neurosurgeon who has told me not to do squats until after my surgery next year. So I'm free to read while Michael picks the berries. Life is good!
Since Memorial Day is upon us, I have decided that the time is right to take the Santas off my mantle. Those who know me well are aware that I stretch out the Yuletide season as long as I can make it, sometimes not dismantling the Christmas tree until Easter beckons. While I do have a huge artificial Christmas wreath hanging on the brick wall in our family room that stays up all year, and a cabinet filled with Santas in my bedroom, I usually put away the ones I scatter throughout the house much earlier. This year, though, the spirit to stow them didn't move me until today, so that will be one of my little chores for a holiday weekend. My doing that will make Michael happy.
I'll also get around to inventorying the freezer, which I still haven't done. Other than that, my weekend is free, just the way I like it. Have a good one!
Friday, May 27, 2011
More on dining out and "celebrating" Memorial Day
Michael and I went to Ruby Tuesday last night for dinner. We had wanted to take the young couple who are our neighbors, but they had been painting all day, getting ready for new baby, and were exhausted. We had the best of everything for a night out--a 25% off your entire bill coupon and a gift card from a grateful guy to whom we returned a high school ring he lost over 40 years ago. (Gotta love Facebook.)
There we were, being served by a very competent and zaftig member of the wait staff. I started with the salad bar and was gravely disappointed at the lack of both black olives and beets. I was trying to show at least the appearance of eating healthy--which is difficult once you've looked at the nutrition charts on Ruby's site--but Michael decided to throw caution to the wind and order a burger that came with about six slices of apple-cured bacon. He also had fries and some overcooked sugar snap peas. My chicken quesadilla was quite good but decidedly NOT lo-cal or in any other way healthy. It was supposed to come with "homemade" pico de gallo, but instead came with an obviously jarred salsa. It was good, but there was too much of it and it certainly wasn't what I'd call freshly-made. We got a take-out box for about a quarter of what we had been served so that we would have room for their latest treats: cupcakes. We each had two, one red velvet and one carrot cake. Both were delicious, with nice textures and great icing. Our server told us that they don't make them there (surprise!). Probably the best thing we had was the strawberry iced tea--very refreshing, barely sweet, and unlimited refills.
It was nice to go out on a weekday with no special occasion, and the price was right.
We went home and watched a streaming netflix movie now that I have figured out how to hook my netbook up to the flatscreen TV. We saw Heaven Can Wait with Don Ameche. It was in the "classics" genre. We saw The Thirds Man a few days ago, also a classic. We liked both of them, tho Third Man was so dark on the screen it gave new meaning to "film noire." Heaven Can Wait was much lighter in every way, including being in color and featuring a charming Satan (Laird Cregar) whom everyone called "Your Excellency." If you're a fan of the lovely overbite actress Gene Tierney, this is a good one for you. Having grown up with a fierce overbite myself, and the total lack of self-esteem to go with it, I always felt uncomfortable watching her, imagining that casting her as a beautiful woman was some kind of mistake.Getting braces in my forties went a long way toward making me feel better about myself.
Lunch today will be two kinds of leftovers, from Wednesday night's dinner in and Thursday's dinner out. It's the start of the holiday weekend, and we have no plans, which is just the way we like it. We are, thus, available as guests for any holiday barbecues. (Just kidding--a little.)
Wherever you are and whoever you are, have a great weekend, and keep in mind the people overseas and those who died serving, whatever you think of the wars themselves. Too many have given too much for so little.
There we were, being served by a very competent and zaftig member of the wait staff. I started with the salad bar and was gravely disappointed at the lack of both black olives and beets. I was trying to show at least the appearance of eating healthy--which is difficult once you've looked at the nutrition charts on Ruby's site--but Michael decided to throw caution to the wind and order a burger that came with about six slices of apple-cured bacon. He also had fries and some overcooked sugar snap peas. My chicken quesadilla was quite good but decidedly NOT lo-cal or in any other way healthy. It was supposed to come with "homemade" pico de gallo, but instead came with an obviously jarred salsa. It was good, but there was too much of it and it certainly wasn't what I'd call freshly-made. We got a take-out box for about a quarter of what we had been served so that we would have room for their latest treats: cupcakes. We each had two, one red velvet and one carrot cake. Both were delicious, with nice textures and great icing. Our server told us that they don't make them there (surprise!). Probably the best thing we had was the strawberry iced tea--very refreshing, barely sweet, and unlimited refills.
It was nice to go out on a weekday with no special occasion, and the price was right.
We went home and watched a streaming netflix movie now that I have figured out how to hook my netbook up to the flatscreen TV. We saw Heaven Can Wait with Don Ameche. It was in the "classics" genre. We saw The Thirds Man a few days ago, also a classic. We liked both of them, tho Third Man was so dark on the screen it gave new meaning to "film noire." Heaven Can Wait was much lighter in every way, including being in color and featuring a charming Satan (Laird Cregar) whom everyone called "Your Excellency." If you're a fan of the lovely overbite actress Gene Tierney, this is a good one for you. Having grown up with a fierce overbite myself, and the total lack of self-esteem to go with it, I always felt uncomfortable watching her, imagining that casting her as a beautiful woman was some kind of mistake.Getting braces in my forties went a long way toward making me feel better about myself.
Lunch today will be two kinds of leftovers, from Wednesday night's dinner in and Thursday's dinner out. It's the start of the holiday weekend, and we have no plans, which is just the way we like it. We are, thus, available as guests for any holiday barbecues. (Just kidding--a little.)
Wherever you are and whoever you are, have a great weekend, and keep in mind the people overseas and those who died serving, whatever you think of the wars themselves. Too many have given too much for so little.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
The Gourmet's Return
Michael outdid himself last night: marinated broiled butterflied leg of lamb, served with herb-seasoned brown rice and a salad of freshly picked lettuces, lightly pickled beets, peas, sweet red pepper, and grated carrot, tossed in a balsamic vinaigrette. Dagmar brought a quart of fresh-picked strawberries, which I capped and lightly sugared and then served over thin slices of pound cake with a scoop of lemon sorbetto.We had a Malbec with dinner and champagne with dessert.
It is difficult to go out and spend much money on dinner when you can have really good food in your own house for so much less. Our trouble is that we really like going out as well, just for the experience, and we do go back to those places where we found good food. Sometimes there's a dish we either don't want to go to the trouble of duplicating or that, try as we might, we just can't duplicate. Thus, we have to go back to the roots of the dish and have it again in its native land.
Michael is one of those people who think that if you're not busy every minute, there's something wrong with you. He reads three newspapers in the morning and will sometimes read an article in a magazine like Time or National Geographic or Discovery in the evenings, but he's not really into reading books. He just finds it hard to sit still for that long. Even when he's watching the Orioles--as he is today--he is up and down. He'll run outside while KC is batting, or take a phone call and walk around while talking, or just go to the window to see what's going on in the neighborhood. Because of this and in order to avoid being thought of as a slacker, I've decided to start my day with a "chore" I want to get done. For me, that usually means emptying and organizing. Today, kitchen cupboards and drawers. It's amazing what accumulates in drawers along with the flotsam and jetsam of life: strange stuff that was once food, errant paper clips and rubber bands, two tiny screw drivers, chopsticks, a single edge razor blade. I'm lucky to still have a finger, considering how I found that. Anyway, those drawers and cupboards are now clean, newly papered, and reorganized. For a couple of weeks, I will once again know where to find the hoisin sauce and the peppermint extract, and I'll know just how many bottles of nose spray I have left until the next refill. I found a milk frother I forgot I had and an ice cream scoop that I'd never use for ice cream but might use for cupcakes.
The next job is to empty and rearrange the big freezer so that I can inventory what's in there and post it on the door. Every time I do that I vow to cross off each item as I remove it, and that vow is kept for just about exactly three weeks, after which I make no notations for several weeks and then realize that the list is totally useless. Still, I like doing it, so I will. But I might wait until tomorrow, because I think I've earned my reading time, not that I ever really feel guilty for reading--but I've got an answer if anyone asks why I'm reading or what I've done today. So there.
It is difficult to go out and spend much money on dinner when you can have really good food in your own house for so much less. Our trouble is that we really like going out as well, just for the experience, and we do go back to those places where we found good food. Sometimes there's a dish we either don't want to go to the trouble of duplicating or that, try as we might, we just can't duplicate. Thus, we have to go back to the roots of the dish and have it again in its native land.
Michael is one of those people who think that if you're not busy every minute, there's something wrong with you. He reads three newspapers in the morning and will sometimes read an article in a magazine like Time or National Geographic or Discovery in the evenings, but he's not really into reading books. He just finds it hard to sit still for that long. Even when he's watching the Orioles--as he is today--he is up and down. He'll run outside while KC is batting, or take a phone call and walk around while talking, or just go to the window to see what's going on in the neighborhood. Because of this and in order to avoid being thought of as a slacker, I've decided to start my day with a "chore" I want to get done. For me, that usually means emptying and organizing. Today, kitchen cupboards and drawers. It's amazing what accumulates in drawers along with the flotsam and jetsam of life: strange stuff that was once food, errant paper clips and rubber bands, two tiny screw drivers, chopsticks, a single edge razor blade. I'm lucky to still have a finger, considering how I found that. Anyway, those drawers and cupboards are now clean, newly papered, and reorganized. For a couple of weeks, I will once again know where to find the hoisin sauce and the peppermint extract, and I'll know just how many bottles of nose spray I have left until the next refill. I found a milk frother I forgot I had and an ice cream scoop that I'd never use for ice cream but might use for cupcakes.
The next job is to empty and rearrange the big freezer so that I can inventory what's in there and post it on the door. Every time I do that I vow to cross off each item as I remove it, and that vow is kept for just about exactly three weeks, after which I make no notations for several weeks and then realize that the list is totally useless. Still, I like doing it, so I will. But I might wait until tomorrow, because I think I've earned my reading time, not that I ever really feel guilty for reading--but I've got an answer if anyone asks why I'm reading or what I've done today. So there.
Monday, May 23, 2011
Drummettes, Twizzlers, and the "Ice Cream Machine"
Today was a low-stress food day. Breakfast in bed: coffee (as always), scrambled eggs, and whole wheat English muffins with fresh strawberry freezer jam. Lunch on the back patio: reheated lamb & eggplant casserole left over from last night. Afternoon snack on the back patio: wine and Twizzlers. Dinner: baked chicken drummettes and steamed broccoli. iced tea for Michael and water for me, followed by treats from the ice cream truck. Michael had a bomb pop, and I had Jolly Rancher push-up.
It must be summer; it's hard to believe that we had an ice cream truck come through our neighborhood, and maybe it wouldn't have, but Michael stopped by to see Ella (our neighbor's dog) and Sarah, who is pregnant, said, "Did you hear the ice cream truck?" We hadn't, but she had, two neighborhoods over, so we drove over there to ask him to be sure to come into our street.
As it turns out, Sarah decided not to indulge, but while Michael was buying ours, a car drove up and a father got out with two little kids. I guess they had decided to follow the truck as well, preferring that to waiting to see if it would show up on their street.
It's been a long time; we live in the eastern suburbs of Salisbury, in one of five neighborhoods that open onto Parker Road. The variety in the atmosphere of these neighborhoods is vast; some are close-knit little families; others, like ours, is a collection of mostly congenial acquaintances. Michael knows everyone better than I do, but he recognizes them by their cars, and I hardly know the cars my friends drive. He waves to everyone who goes by unless it happens to be the people who live immediately across the street from us, whose presence we never acknowledge.I have no idea who's riding by, so I don't wave--I suppose I'd rather snub a neighbor than wave at a stranger. That seems very odd. In any event, we don't live in the kind of neighborhood where one would expect an ice cream truck. We've had a few over the almost thirty-four years we've lived here, but not very often and never even two summers in a row. We've decided to patronize this one to keep it coming back.
I started a new book today--I can't remember the title just now, but it has something to do with cutting stone (the title, not the book so far). It was recommended by Barb Fernald, who lives on the island in Maine that we visit. I ate the twizzlers while I was reading; Michael was cutting the grass.In about an hour he finished the grass and I got through a hundred or so pages. It's quite interesting and I'm hooked.
I think tomorrow will be a company dinner day, so I'll have to rattle around in the freezer to see what my options are. I think there's only one casserole left from last summer's bumper crop of eggplant and peppers. This year's pepper plants already have blossoms. Once summer is in full swing, I'll have to start cooking again and refilling the freezer. My favorite part will be replacing all the blueberries Michael picked last summer that we had to throw out when the freezer died in October. It's a tragedy to run out of blueberries in the middle of winter, so we supplemented with frozen ones from Sam's, They're not bad, but they're not local, either. Still, in a smoothie with banana and Greek yogurt, Sam's blueberries do just fine.
It must be summer; it's hard to believe that we had an ice cream truck come through our neighborhood, and maybe it wouldn't have, but Michael stopped by to see Ella (our neighbor's dog) and Sarah, who is pregnant, said, "Did you hear the ice cream truck?" We hadn't, but she had, two neighborhoods over, so we drove over there to ask him to be sure to come into our street.
As it turns out, Sarah decided not to indulge, but while Michael was buying ours, a car drove up and a father got out with two little kids. I guess they had decided to follow the truck as well, preferring that to waiting to see if it would show up on their street.
It's been a long time; we live in the eastern suburbs of Salisbury, in one of five neighborhoods that open onto Parker Road. The variety in the atmosphere of these neighborhoods is vast; some are close-knit little families; others, like ours, is a collection of mostly congenial acquaintances. Michael knows everyone better than I do, but he recognizes them by their cars, and I hardly know the cars my friends drive. He waves to everyone who goes by unless it happens to be the people who live immediately across the street from us, whose presence we never acknowledge.I have no idea who's riding by, so I don't wave--I suppose I'd rather snub a neighbor than wave at a stranger. That seems very odd. In any event, we don't live in the kind of neighborhood where one would expect an ice cream truck. We've had a few over the almost thirty-four years we've lived here, but not very often and never even two summers in a row. We've decided to patronize this one to keep it coming back.
I started a new book today--I can't remember the title just now, but it has something to do with cutting stone (the title, not the book so far). It was recommended by Barb Fernald, who lives on the island in Maine that we visit. I ate the twizzlers while I was reading; Michael was cutting the grass.In about an hour he finished the grass and I got through a hundred or so pages. It's quite interesting and I'm hooked.
I think tomorrow will be a company dinner day, so I'll have to rattle around in the freezer to see what my options are. I think there's only one casserole left from last summer's bumper crop of eggplant and peppers. This year's pepper plants already have blossoms. Once summer is in full swing, I'll have to start cooking again and refilling the freezer. My favorite part will be replacing all the blueberries Michael picked last summer that we had to throw out when the freezer died in October. It's a tragedy to run out of blueberries in the middle of winter, so we supplemented with frozen ones from Sam's, They're not bad, but they're not local, either. Still, in a smoothie with banana and Greek yogurt, Sam's blueberries do just fine.
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