Seriously, years ago I drove our one-and-only car to a home show out in East Armpit, where they'd designated a field across the road for parking. It had been a terribly dry summer. While I was working at the show, the catalytic converter of someone's car ignited the tall, dry grass and several cars burned. I remember someone asking me afterward if I'd thought about pushing ours into the inferno. Yeah, for a second or two, but with my luck I wouldn't get out in time.
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My lunch today: the last of the leftover mushroom soup, some samosas filled with lentils, and baked mozzerella sticks with marinara sauce. I had cilantro chutney on the samosas, and a little remained on the plate when I gave it to the dogs. Ebony skirted the chutney, but Tasha was braver and lapped it up. It's hot (spicy) stuff; wonder how she'll request Prilosec later?
All in all, a fairly nice day yesterday. Charlie arrived before we got to eating, which was nice, but not early enough that we could watch a dvd before dinner. Luckily Emily has a lot to say and she was a wonderful hostess, keeping him entertained by showing him her portfolio and talking about school, etc. I had to laugh at one point. When it got to be close to 5 Charlie asked for an update on the ETA of the food, and at that point I thought everything would be ready by 5 and that's what I told him. So at ten of, he announced he was going for a bathroom break and then a smoke break and when he came back "there will be food". Oh yeah, like he was cooking it, and he knew. So I guess I hurried things a bit and the asparagus ended up a little underdone. It only needed a couple of minutes more and it would have been perfect, but for some reason I didn't assert myself. Stupid of me. However, the turkey was perfect, the biryani yummy, the demi glace was blissful, the sweet potatoes sublime, and most of the asparagus was delightfully al dente. I hate overdone veggies so if I'm gonna goof up one way, that's the way to go. So we're sitting at the table and Charlie says, I realize this is sacreligious, but can I microwave this asparagus a little? I said sure, he took his plate out and put the stuff on it and zapped it, and I advised him to steer clear of the lower ends if he was in need of something more tender.
ONE THING I DID NOT DO HOWEVER: I didn't apologize for the veggie being as it was. Ray and I have a standing joke between us. My mother used to cook a large meal for everyone then tell us all how bad it was. It reached the point where Ray and I would look at each other and say or mouth silently, "Joan" (as in, "of Arc")because Mom was generally self-immolating, she was so extreme in her condemnation of her food. We said it was like she'd put her achievements down so that nobody else could do so, and so that we'd all feel obliged to contradict her and say, oh no Mom, it's wonderful. It was as if she didn't feel confidant enough in her skills to trust that she was doing good things, so she had to force us into praising her this way. Weird. Very insecure, manipulative person. The funniest point was the holiday meal we met my parents for in a restaurant renowned for its decor. Big fire roaring in a stonefaced fireplace, bookshelves crammed with books used as room dividers. Over my head, Ray caught sight of, you guessed it, a book about Joan of Arc. We giggled ourselves silly through the rest of the meal.
The other thing Charlie did about my food is he passed up having a sweet potato, which I had simply baked at the same time as the turkey, then served with a sauce made of mayo, olive oil, and garlic. At least he said no when I offered it to him in the kitchen, yet by the time we sat down at the table, he'd (sort of) changed his mind and started mooching some of Ray's. My sweetie gave it to him, but reiterated that there was more in the kitchen, and later went back for more himself. Sigh. Charlie had no trouble, however, scarfing a lot of the biryani. He eats a lot of restaurant food, having never really learned to cook much himself, and all those carbs probably seemed most familiar to him.
Emily, I must say, ate with us at the table (a rare occurance) and ate turkey and biryani. When Charlie went out to recook his asparagus, she reached over and held my hand for a moment. She knew what I was feeling, and her gesture was very sweet.
For lunch, I had some of the leftover mushroom soup I made recently. Absolute bliss. The depth of flavor is remarkable, all the more so when it's sat in the fridge for a while.
We've been listening steadily to Dar Williams, who knows a thing or two about families and how they (dis)function.
My brother just called from the thruway, saying he's late as usual. Huh? Not by my standards. I reiterated that dinner is at 5, other than that it's all groovy. I heard something in his voice which indicates that he's stressed over something. I'm sorry, but if it's dinner at our house it's a shame. I don't think I'm asking too much of him.
The sun just came out, which feels like a blessing.
Living in the north part of the country as we do, fresh veggies are often expensive. During the season up here, asparagus can get as high in price as $3.99 a pound, so when someone from the produce department told me it was down to $1.29, I jumped to get some. And several of my coworkers did too. In fact, I observed at one point that you would have thought we were talking about illegal drugs, the way we were carrying on about it.
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I'm used to people approaching me for help, but one such request had me stymied yesterday. A petite woman buttonholed me and asked if I knew where the Viking dip was. She had a heavy southern accent and I'm afraid it took three tries for me even to figure out that much. She looked perturbed and when I drew a blank she said no one knew where it was and she was in a hurry, etc. A couple of my coworkers and I put our heads together and guessed that it might be in the aisle with the potato chips, so there she went. She came back with chips but no dip. Not happy. Another customer, bless her soul, tried to help her while I called for assistance but no one had even heard of the stuff. Finally I asked her what flavor it was; she said sour cream and onion. Next I asked her if she'd bought it here before. She said no, but her neice did all the time. Ah......the light went on, and I guided her over to the Bison chip dip. Viking, Bison, if you're in a hurry they sound a lot alike.
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The atmosphere reminded me of one of my all-time favorite experiences last holiday season. I think it was New Year's Eve, when a man came through my cashing line with a large order with lots of expensive items. Oysters, big hunka beef, lots of ingredients for hors d'oerves, etc. When the last item came out of his cart and onto the conveyor, he heaved a big dramatic sigh and remarked, "Now, I've got to take it all home and cook it!" I kept my mouth shut but I'm sure my eyes snapped wide open at that, and when he was out of hearing distance I asked the woman behind him what she thought he thought the rest of us do!
And along comes a petite woman in her sixties I'd guess. I'm doing a Godiva chocolate demo, in which I have samples to give away. Dark and milk chocolate, and beyond that, caramel-filled, truffle-filled, or solid. I ask every customer what they want, mindful that I cannot give more than one sample per customer away.
So this small woman comes up to my table, and I launch into my questions. To which the first couple of answers, frankly, make no sense.
Me: "Dark or milk chocolate?"
Her:"Yes"
*I look at her questioningly.*
*She pulls out a small laminated card, explaining that she has had a stroke. She understands others perfectly. She cannot, however speak well enough to make herself understood.*
Jesus Christmas. And I think I have it hard!
This dear, smiling woman manages to communicate her feelings, I think, by her sunny demeanor, her choices, I know, by improvised sign language using her hands.
Brave, one of my coworkers called her when I related the experience of dealing with her.
God bless you , Lucille (her card announced her name).
I feel I am the dust beneath your feet, to quote something I once read.
Came back inside, puttered around on my new, lovely computer, went to check on Zoey. Who is passed out on my bed. Sweet baby, she's been through a lot. I got to reading the take-home instructions today. Which indicate we should (have) limit(ed) her jumping on furniture, etc. Yeah, right. These people don't know Zoey. Im-poss-ible, guys! Maybe with lead-lined booties and a sack of potatoes tied around her neck. Otherwise, good luck, folks. She's a wild woman.
Before that I got a really good workout in.
What a beautiful day, sunny and bright and warm for this time of year. Nothing wrong with that.
So today I'll go to the gym, get some groceries, then come home and cook. This next week I won't want to when I get home, I have a feeling, so I'll make things I can freeze and we can reheat, like the Greek leek and cheese pie.
Then I'll figure out how to transfer all my photo files over to the new computer. Then I'll hold down the sofa for a while. Yeah, right, well a short while.
How about I shoot for 3, get there by 4 at the latest? Let me know
if a little earlier is better. Also if you would like me to bring
anything.
Now, at first glance that doesn't seem so shaky, but we know Charlie, and therefore we know that a suggestion like this can mean he arrives as late as 5. Mind you, he is coming from Rochester, 70 miles away, but he's been here dozens of times (we've lived here 15 years). Am I being selfish to want to have a better idea of when he'll actually be here? It makes it tough to know what to cook and when to start it. Large cuts of meat are out because they usually take some lead time. My thought for this year is a honey-brined turkey breast, which can take as little as an hour and a half. One year I served pulled-pork sandwiches, which could be thrown together quickly, as all the prep work was done days before. But Em wouldn't like them, and I'd like to do something she'd eat.
I feel petty even writing about this, given that some people in this country don't have relatives to join them on this day, but I can't help it.
It probably should be noted that my brother doesn't own a house, isn't married, and doesn't have a child.
Meanwhile I've been cleaning the kitchen stove and sink area. It's the ideal kind of day to do it, as it's very bright outside. Easy to see the crud I'm removing. I also cleaned the top of the end table near where I'm seated, which absolutely screamed for it. The table is actually Ray's old toy chest from childhood, painted offwhite to match the paneling in this room. It gets mighty ooky after a while with spills and stains.
I've been high as a kite lately over Emily's grades. Her latest report card came Saturday, and it fairly glowed in the dark. She's got a course load that would stagger a moose and yet, this quarter, she has a 3.83 GPA! To give you some perspective, six weeks ago (I think, I'm not sure of the exact time), she was essentially failing math. This was NOT GOOD because if she had to drop down into the easier form of it, the time would have conflicted with her other classes and she would have had to drop one art class. Boo hoo. So Girlfriend bucked up, got extra help, did all kinds of online exercises, and pulled that grade up to a B minus. Phenomenal. Especially because she's the one who decided what to do, she applied herself, we didn't give her any ultimatum, and she pulled it off.
I never learned to study, really, until I was out of high school and into college, so to watch this gifted, hard-working young woman develop these skills at this stage is thrilling.
(Later)
Zoey's home, and she's one truly pissed-off kitty. They warned me she was trying to get at her stitches, that as soon as she was fed she lay back, put her feet up and tried to pull them out, so we have to keep the collar on her. That leads to hilarity, because she has to get used to the weight, the breadth of it, and what it means for other activities like digging under the sofa for something. I brought the smallest of the cat boxes upstairs and put it in the bathroom, because no way is she going to be able to get through the cat door into the basement to go potty. Even when she has the collar on she has to be watched, because she's trying to get it off and nearly did so once. Her new nickname, courtesy of the vet's office, is "Houdini", because of her escape attempts. She wanders around the house making this funny chirruping noise unique to her and which usually means she's frustrated.
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In other news, not just once but twice now, Emily has eaten what I made for Ray and me for dinner. And enjoyed it. Wow. I haven't said anything to her about this, but I'm very pleased. Evidently the cachet of making her own food has worn off a bit. Last night's supper was a pasta/spinach/ground beef dish from Real Simple. She ate almost all of it, including the meat and spinach and practically all the onions. Holy cow. Who are you and what have you done with my daughter comes to mind, but I won't say it.
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I helped put out a fire in the prepared department the other day. Same scenario as I had at the meat and seafood workstation, where the marinade built up so badly on the grill that even after the gas was turned off the flames kept coming. I was cooking on the other side of the island which houses the grill. I only became aware of the situation when I looked up, saw a heavy-duty baking sheet turned upside down on the grill, and flames licking around the edge. Mike, the guy who was cooking there, started making jokes about, "Does everyone know where the fire exits are?" as he tried to scrape the excess marinade off the grill so as not to feed the fire any more fuel. Finally I and another woman walked over and started throwing salt on the fire. After the near-disaster I had, I always keep a canister of salt on my demo table because you never know. So Joyce worked from the grill side and I came at it from the stove side and we got it under control. That also gave me experience such that I'll use the technique with more confidence in the future, should I have to.
Speaking of fire, Zoey just lit her tail accidentally. I had a tea light over by the aquarium, and she stopped her perusal long enough to look at the fish, leaving her tail on the candle. It's out now, and she has so much hair on her tail you can't see what happened, but it stinks in here now. Sigh.
Zoey was a hoot and a half while I was doing the job. The sill of the window is just over the kitchen sink, so she was able to sit inside and supervise the task. Lots of pouncing on the spot I was scraping. Funny girl.
Just now I discovered the source of the loud noise I heard earlier. She lept up to the place where my seedbox sits, landed on it, and spilled the contents all over my studio area. See Mommy, I'll motivate you to clean this up! Grrrr.....
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Zoey's been using the dining room chairs, which have metal frames, as jungle gyms lately. Don't suppose she'll do much of that for a while after her operation next Monday, but meanwhile it's fascinating to watch. Today she showed she can stand up on the table and hit the glass drops hanging off the mini-chandelier there. Oh crap. I couldn't get a picture at that precise moment, but the one I got shows her doing the math, so to speak.
This is a bit nervous-making, as there are some things around here that can break. Sad to say, I'm the one who nailed the latest victim, a lamp I got from my mother years ago and which had been in her family for a long time. Thankfully, much of the damage was on only one side and if I position it just right.....
It's a neat old piece. I discovered while gluing it back together that it's signed on the bottom: Satsuma. I think that's Japanese for: lovely piece which sits around for years until a klutz owns it. Dontcha love the moose in the sweater and boots behind it? That's a year-round feature here.
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The rest of the world is gearing up to eat great hunks of roasted meat over the next month or so, and I'm craving.....
tofu. Go figure. Don't know why. I was simply, suddenly thinking of some of my favorite recipes that use the stuff, and there I went. And portobella mushrooms. We had sammidges made with portobella mushrooms for dinner tonight. Next time I think I'll add some superthin-sliced ham, and maybe some mustard. Needed something in the tang-and-zest department.
Maybe being out-of-step with the rest of the world is okay. Maybe it's healthy.
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I took the dogs ("the girls") out for a walk. I've promised myself to try to get out with them more. They enjoy it so. Simply hanging out in the back yard is not the same. There's all sorts of social stuff recorded on the grass, in the air out there. The delight on their faces when I ask them ("Puppy wanna?") is so obvious. I get something out of it too. I actually broke a sweat today walking them. That means I'm in better shape than I used to be, because in the past I would have had a hard time keeping up with the pace they get going at, and I would never have started sweating from exertion.
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Tazzer spent a good twenty minutes cuddling with me this morning. I adore him - he's so sweet, and when he's in the mood, highly affectionate.
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I went to Barnes and Nobles yesterday to renew our membership as a sort-of birthday gift for Ray. Sort-of because it's really his money I'm using. The disparity between our incomes is mind-boggling. When I approached the front door, I was disgusted to see a patron standing smoking at the door. The law, as I understand it, says that no one is allowed to smoke within twenty feet of the door. I find it truly revolting to go out to a restaurant or a place like B&N and have to walk through a cloud of cigarette smoke just to get into the building. When I renewed the membership, I told the clerk I had a complaint, and what it was. She apologized, but said, "We're just the tenant and we'd have to get the landlord involved." (Oh, yeah, does your landlord get involved when you're given a permit to sell food? I think not, and it's the same organization which enforces the smoking law.) What I find truly sad about this is that I like to believe in/act on the idea of thinking globally but acting locally. Meaning, I like to learn about things like culture from many sources, but I try to buy books, music, etc., from a local store, thinking that I support the local economy that way. When businesses lose sight of things like smoking on their property, it makes me think, screw the local economy, I'm buying online from now on. Sad.
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There was a funny moment or two in the upstairs computer room at work the other day. A handful of us were working on various tasks there. One of the guys from Produce was looking at the numbers of pomegranates each store has sold. He explained to the rest of us that each year, management selects a fruit or veggie to focus on. The object is to increase sales over the previous year, and they never know what it will be the next year. This competition involves a trip to California (business, natch). After a while the assistant manager of the pizza shop spoke up and asked, is there something I'm not understanding about pomegranates? Because I don't get them. At which point we all spoke up and admitted we don't get them either. They seem like an awful lot of work for not much actual fruit, was the concensus. It was a funny little the-emporer-has-no-clothes-type moment.
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A woman approached my demo table Sunday with her right arm in a sling. I asked her what she'd done, and she explained she'd broken a shoulder. We commiserated for a while. I broke a wrist ten years ago, and I know too well how awkward it makes life. She confessed she has to have the friend who was with her there come over and help her dress. I remarked that the worst is going to the bathroom, at which point she whispered, "I have no underpants on." And we laughed. It's true, it's terrible when that happens. You suddenly realize how much you take for granted
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Ray and I love to see how late in the season we can eat outside, and this year is exceptional. It was very warm last night, but too windy, so I set up in the greenhouse. It's lovely to hear the outdoor noises, smell the outdoor smells, on his birthday no less. It's especially poignant when I think that three years ago we had that freak snow storm on October 13, and here it is the 10th of November. Huzzah!
My girl is growing up and we have a much better relationship than I had with my mother at the age she is now (and before and after, come to think of it). I want my daughter to have fun, to be and feel normal, and have healthy growing-up experiences.
I knew they liked each other that way a year ago, just from watching their body language around each other. His name is Cameron, his parents are divorced, he doesn't drive yet, But/And he's a nice guy. Bright and funny.
Focussed on my computer next. Made a handful of folders to collect my favorite places in, instead of the disorganized mess they've been.
Then I went outside and cleaned up further. Hosta leaves, which at this point of the season have morphed into wet Kleenex on the ground. I discovered that they are a heck of a lot easier to pick up when they're freshly wilted, as opposed to having spent the winter on the ground. Trimmed the edges of the grass so they don't look so shabby adjacent to the beds.
All of this is in addition to what my dear husband,
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
captainsblog, noted yesterday. He fixed the darn bathroom sink! Which hadn't drained well in, oh, years. Small purchase had big effect. Lovely, lovely.Got a mighty nice workout in. While I was in the gym, one of the younger guys from work walked up to me and said hello. James is a sweetie, obviously in very good shape and with the metabolism typical of his age. I can count on him to show up at my demo table. In fact, if I'm having trouble moving my samples and am worried that I'll have to throw out too much, I start looking for him to help me out.
Came home, unloaded my groceries, sat on the sofa a while, then psyched myself up and went back outside. Emptied and stored twenty ceramic pots I fill with annual and perennial plants each growing season. Twenty vessels between 10 inches in diameter (maybe three of those) through 18 inches (ten of those), to the final two in the mammoth, 24-inch-across size. What remains to be done outside is: empty the basket-type containers, which are not in danger of being broken by freeze/thaw cycles, cut down the hostas which have succumbed to frost, mulch a little more, then say adieu until next spring. I brought in fewer plants this year to overwinter indoors. With a new small kitty in the house, I know better than to chance some death-and-distruction indoors. The older cats can be trusted to leave the plants alone, but the little one, well, she's been eyeing the plants in the birdcage in the corner of the dining room and I don't want to tempt her.
A cluster of us were in the employee's bathroom yesterday, and we started talking about what we'd observed lately. Hardly anyone of our customers cooks regularly. Personally, I feel like some sort of throwback. Most of our customers buy prefab food, beit frozen or wokery takeout or something else from our prepared department. It's weird. It's some sort of management dream, I'm sure, but to me it's strange. Terribly, horribly expensive. But such is the demographic of our customer base, that they don't care. Wowsers. I can't imagine what it's like to have that kind of money.
