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  My blog was filled up. I'm too lazy to clean it out. So I started a new one. |
| I'm pretty much a loner, sometimes by choice. I like my routine and am not usually spontaneous. Yesterday, I did not have to work on Sunday. I was at home after church and could cook dinner for my dad and my brother and his children and grandchildren, who usually come while I'm at work. I usually try to cook on Saturday night and let Dad finish or warm it up on Sunday. Being at home to serve and clean up is preferable. I can also reduce the damage to my home and things by the children. In the afternoon, before the guests arrived, I had planned to type and to nap. But while I was in the kitchen cooking, my brother came to the back door, about 3 hours or more earlier than usual. He had taken off from work due to a cold. He had intended to go to a walk-in clinic to get a note to return to work, but it was so busy, he decided to wait until Monday morning and go in late or take another day. He has cancer, so colds are always a concern. He sat at the kitchen table with me, and we spent the rest of the afternoon talking about everything. My dad was snoring in the other room. He's doing more of that these days. Finally, his daughter and her two kids showed up. Her husband was off getting free horse manure for fertilizer ( he got several loads) and just ran out of time to make the ride into town. The others had other things to do and weren't coming. So we had a nice meal, and the two children who were there got more attention than when all the kids are there. The three year old didn't want to go home. She's a holy terror around other kids and her parents. Fortunately, they did bring their pajamas with the hopes that they would go to sleep on the ride home. As I was off today, I told her she could stay. I had already made the threat that if she didn't put all the toys away that she couldn't go home. Who knew that it would backfire? So without a change of clothes or toothbrush or comb, she spent the night. She was well-behaved. We watched a Disney move, then she went to bed. I had to lie down with her until she went to sleep. Then I got ready for bed. At least she slept a long time. This morning, I had to cook breakfast, something I hardly ever do. We did some clean-up together and went outside to pick up pine cones and sticks and rake. I have child size tools for the kids. Her dad came and got her, with clean clothes, to go out of town on errands. Now I can catch up. My point is that my own plans had to be changed. I couldn't do my usual things, check my e-mail, or write. I couldn't watch my kind of TV. I couldn't take the time for my morning rituals. But these people are important to me. When my brother dies from cancer, if I'm still around, I won't be regretting that I didn't spend more time just talking with him. This little great niece may possibly have some faint memory of me when I'm gone. As much as I value my privacy and my routine, I value my family and my relationships. Some relationships don't pay off or have no lasting value. Family is another matter. Time with people you love is worth every minute. |
| Like a lot of people I have turned to the Internet for my recipes. If I want to make something, I look it up there. It's easier than going through a lot of old cookbooks, some faded from so much use. I've been surprised how outdated some old cookbooks have become. Products and utensils have changed. The Internet has made the transition to newer methods and products. However, lately I've had trouble with finding recipes on the Web. You have to download certain programs in order to read the ones you want. I don't want all those downloads that I might not ever use again. I may not want that recipe once I look at it. Or you get some kind of warning about Security. The warning has some number and some name I've never seen before and that in itself looks suspicious. "Don't turn off your computer, or attempt to solve by yourself." It dares me to resolve it, but I don't want to call some potential con-artist and let him have my phone and computer address. I pay for a firewall, which I know can't catch every thing. But now I'm afraid to search for recipes. The other problem is that most recipes now have too many shortcuts. They contain ingredients I'm trying to avoid. For instance, I wanted old-fashioned baked macaroni and cheese. You start with a white sauce, but I couldn't remember whether or not I needed eggs (it is a custard type dish and custards use eggs). One recipe called for processed cheese product. Yuck. Another called for quick cooking cheese and mac products to start. Again, yuck. I want real food, real ingredients, not artificial anything. So out came the old cookbooks. The most weathered ones I figured would be the likeliest to have what I wanted. Yes, the very first dog-eared book had a good one. Well, some things the Net can't replace. And the cook books you hold in your hands have no security risks. I've thought about going through them and logging the ones I have found useful, or even copying them into a more useful, newer book. Maybe some day. I'll add it to my list of things to do in my retirement; it's a very long list. |
| Granted my area hardly had any signs of winter except a bitter cold wind. It was sleeting before bedtime, but it rained during the night and washed it away on the roads and driveways. I had to scrape it off the car mid-morning. It was pretty cold and no sun. By mid-afternoon, the sun was out and no signs were left. It was still cold in the wind. I made it to work just fine. We had eight call outs. Okay, some of them live west of town over the mountains, so they probably did have more. The ones who worked early would have had problems. By afternoon, even the mountain dwellers had no excuse. Still they did not work. Some weren't scheduled to come in until late afternoon, but they knew early morning that they weren't coming in. Huh??? Planning to lay out playing video games? We don't get paid without written doctor notes. I couldn't help but notice the irony of suffering allergies from pollen while enduring cold winter winds and scraping sleet off the car. My nose is raw from sneezing and running so much. I'm exhausted from constant coughing. My eyes cry away all makeup almost immediately. Spring came way too early, then winter decided to freeze us again. The pollen season will be a very long one this year. |
| St. Paddy's Day is near. No green beer, please. It's a vulgar American custom that just makes your urine green. They would not dream of it in Ireland. I don't want to clean any green toilets: I'm sure no one else does either. So, what to eat? Irish stew or corned beef and cabbage, giant shrimp called prawn, or other North Atlantic fish. They really don't do much for dessert other than flan, a simple egg custard, except in the fancy hotels and tourist attractions. Eggs and chicken are always acceptable. Americans have green cookies or cupcakes. Irish soda bread is sort of dry and not to American tastes. However, you can find some in selected bakeries that are sweetened a bit or have raisins added. They are still crumbly, but tasty with butter. Irish butters and cheeses are sold in all the better chain grocers. For drinking, there is the tan and the dark: two different beers poured carefully into the same glass. They only mix, since one is heavier than the other, as the mug is tilted up and down in drinking. In the market, Guinness has one that is labeled American blond, made in America, not Ireland. Of course, there is Irish whiskey and moonshine. Most any spirits will do to fill Irish drinking legends. Not all Irish have been drunks, but the reputation is there. Vast populations of Irish live in New York, Boston, Philadelphia, and Chicago. Most have married into other ethnic groups by now, but they cling to their heritage. By the time of the American Civil War, the potato famine had struck, and masses had fled to America to avoid starvation. Some intended to stay, while some planned to return after things were better back home and they had made their fortunes in America. At this point, there may be as many Irish Americans as there are Irish in Ireland. They faced a lot of prejudice and racism on landing in America and moving to new communities. Today they fit in with the "natives" and oppose other immigrating groups. They looked like the people who hated them and tormented them. It was only the accent that gave them away, or maybe Catholic rituals. They brought many skills with them, hard work and determination. They did not come to terrorize or destroy or take advantage. However, once here, with no jobs or prospects, many did turn to crime or gangs. Some sought control of fire fighting clubs or houses, before community supported fire houses were formed. Eventually some filtered into the police departments. Definitely, we see the struggle for power and control while the country was still young and forming. Irish history is rich. So is Irish American history. They also have literary giants and wonderful folk lore. |
| Every now and then I am inspired to cook something new to me. About two years ago, I made French onion soup from scratch. It took four kinds of onions, a lot of them, and other special things on my grocery list. It took all day to chop and prep and cook. The result was wonderful! It was the best, probably the healthiest, French onion soup I ever had. I haven't tried it since because of the time involved. I like making my own things because I know what goes in them, including the spices. If anything is canned or prepared, I can control what kind it is. This past Saturday, I spent the day making Brunswick stew. I like Mrs. Ferneyhow's in the can, but I wanted my own. Whew! Picking out the best recipe for me and my utensils was tough. First, I had to boil a whole chicken, remove the skin and bones, and shred the meat. I cooked celery and onions in a tablespoon of olive oil. To the skillet I added ground pork and ground beef. When all the meat was done, that mixture had to be transferred to a big pot. The chicken was added to that. So the meat of this hearty concoction was done before the three hours of cooking on low heat. At the right time, you add a little chicken stock, tomatoes, spices, and a whole green pepper. That green pepper was a new step for me. You cook it uncut in the stew for two hours, remove it, discard any seeds that haven't disintegrated, chop and return to the pot which is still cooking. Close to the end, you add corn. I let it cool off, refrigerated it, then put it back in a clean pot the next day to warm up and serve company. Serve with crackers or a biscuit; it's a whole meal with veggies and meat! They ate it up, leaving only enough for two bowls the next day. It was delicious if I say so myself. I'll do it again when the summer's over, maybe with fresh tomatoes out of my garden. It was fun, tasty, and wholesome. Now we're back to tuna or stir fry or something quick. |
| Ever had a day when you had several thoughts or trains of thought that you just had to write down? But you were driving or at work or moving the lawn, so you had to wait. By the time the day's chores are done and you sit at your desk, your mind is blank. And you think to yourself, "What was so important? What made me think I had something to say?" Then nothing comes out. You sit stymied. You couldn't make polite conversation if someone were in the room. All you can think about is washing your face and going to bed. Did that moment of grand inspiration really exist? Was it just a wish or a moment's fancy? Are great thoughts so fleeting, so slick that they can't be held? Maybe it's like walking on the precipice. You have to throw yourself in right then and there to get the most of it. Walk away, and you forget how it feels. The adrenaline tapers off; the emotions, whether fear or thrill or passion,drift away. Nothing remains but the ashes of your mind's passion. Maybe, it will come back another day. Probably not. How often does the same muse visit with the same agenda? That's life, I guess. |
| Okay, I'm usually a little late. I just saw the movie Chicago with Richard Gere from more than a decade ago. It wasn't at all what I was expecting. It was wonderful. My favorite scene, I think, was the puppet scene where Gere is the featured performer with the rest in the chorus. They had to shoot it many times to edit together the final film. The girl Roxie was real at times, just a puppet at others. Same with the chorus members. Only Gere was himself the whole time. And his voice is unusual. We see why he didn't have a musical career, but he can still carry a tune well. The effect is memorable. I also liked the song Mr. Cellophane. I'm sure a lot of viewers can identify with that. Queen Latifah was great, as always, singing or not. In some movies, editing, flash shots, short scenes, darting back and forth, etc., just flops. Here, it was clean, artistic, and tastefully done. The kaleidoscope, if I can call it that, works in this case. A nearby theater group is doing Chicago very soon. It's a bit of ride for me, but I'm thinking about going. I just have to round up some friends. |
| There is a revival of interest in old westerns. GetTV, a channel owned by Sony, runs a lot of old shows, but has certain hours and seasons dedicated to very old westerns. I discovered Nichols, Tombstone Territory, Restless Gun, and Hondo on GetTV. I had never heard of them before. They're entertaining. INSP runs a lot of westerns and is responsible for getting me hooked on them about 3 years ago. Encore has a western channel, which runs a lot of mini-series. Of course, TCM and AMC still run classics with James Stewart and Audie Murphy, et al. I like the really old ones, and am thrilled to see some of these stars when they were very young. This past year, it seems they've pulled even older movies out than they had run previously. I've taken up reading westerns, too. There's a lot of mediocre ones. The Desperadoes was a great story, but not perfectly written. (It was written in the 1950's. My copy was printed in the 80's.) I just read one called The Streak by Max Brand, from the 1930's. It was surprisingly well-written. It was placed in the overlapping time of horses and autos. It had humor, realism, and psychological insight. It was quite enjoyable. It seems that a lot of people have misconceptions about westerns. I keep watching movies and reading books that defy the stereotypes. On the other hand, I've studied western lore and history so much on my own, that I can't help but pick apart some things I see or read as historically inaccurate. |
| Aerosmith made an elevator sound sexy, but I've got other descriptions. Today I had a new adventure on one. I got on the middle of three elevators at the hospital. I wanted to go up one floor to exit. I was done and had the rest of the day off. Two employees were on with me, one in a uniform. They were both on a late lunch break. Almost as soon as it started up, the elevator abruptly jerked and made a tremendous thud. The lady in uniform went, "Oh, oh". We hesitated a few moments before the blue uniform punched the help button. The second one told her to push the open button. Nothing worked, so she hit alarm. We didn't move. Nothing happened. Finally, after what sounded like outside phone line recorded messages, someone asked if we needed help. The button pusher told her where we were and what had happened. Apparently, he was from outside the hospital and said he would report the incident. He asked how many were on the elevator, if anyone needed medical help, and what her name was. "Casey," she said. Minutes passed as we listened to the whooshing of the other elevators, and clanking sounds, and bells. We kept expecting one of the clanks to be someone opening our door. I imagined that the elevator was starting to move, then realized it hadn't. We learned they were both on lunch, and I was leaving an appointment. Finally, the alarm guy called back and asked Casey if we were okay. He promised someone was on the way. More time passed, when Casey decided to call her office or station and tell them why she hadn't returned. That woman promised to report it from within. I started studying the inside. In the movies, some guy can always stand up and get through a tile in the ceiling Nope. Nothing but an electric light fixture in that ceiling. I started trying to pry some side panels with my fingers, but they weren't going anywhere either. These elevators were not movie elevators! No one was going anywhere to be a hero or escape a villain. There was no fire extinguisher. It began to get really warm in there. We could feel the movement of the other shafts as the air was sucked from ours as they passed. It was about 20 minutes before we felt someone was aware that we were in there and trying to rescue us. Suddenly I saw light at the bottom of our door. The second lady said, "I hope we're at a level where we can just step out". Just then the doors barely began to part at the bottom only, and I could see the top of the opening in the wall. It was not matching the top of the elevator. "No, look there," I said pointing. "We're going to have to jump down." Well, these two guys struggled to part the doors, finally turning another power switch off that was forcing them to close. (They had the stationery doors open. It was the doors that actually close the shaft that wouldn't open.) Then they played with the ladder, trying to figure the safest way to get us out. I wanted to just sit down and slide off the edge, but they wouldn't allow it. By then, the lobby, where I had started was filling with onlookers. They decided to leave the ladder closed, propped against the raised floor with one of them holding it in place. We had to turn around and back out of the elevator, with the opening at about our waist or lower. I was not wearing the right shoes for this. Casey, the smallest and youngest, went down first. It seemed like it took forever. Then it was my turn. The second lady took my purse, I turned my back to the audience and moved my foot to the side. The man, whom I did not know, put his hand on my foot to guide it to the rung. I think I moved fairly quickly once the first foot was planted. The second man handed me my purse. He had stood beside the ladder to catch me just in case. The last one off came down fairly quickly, too, having watched us. I still needed to leave the hospital, but I didn't want to try another of their elevators! Someone standing there offered to show me the stairs. Lady #3 wanted them, too. We walked up 3 full flights of stairs to get to the level I wanted. (Hospitals have high ceilings.) This is a beautiful building with lots of light and artistic touches on the side of a mountain. I didn't panic, but now I'm afraid to trust elevators. Here's my advice. It's healthier to walk up the stairs, if possible. Go to the bathroom before you get on the elevator. Have a bottle of water, just in case. If it's almost lunch time, have a cracker or a piece of fruit on stand-bye. I have to think about what to do if my elderly father is with me. He couldn't have turned around and slid to one side to go down a ladder. And he couldn't walk up that many steps. His joints just won't do it. I'd have to rant to the alarm guy about getting help for someone not stable on his feet immediately. But don't panic for yourself or someone else. You'll waste the oxygen. |
| I have never liked horror movies. They scared me when I was young, and my younger brother was obsessed with them. I couldn't even follow what was going on, but he would explain them to me. It took years for me to work up the courage to watch Cujo with my husband, only to discover it wasn't a horror movie after all. Now one of my favorite TV shows is Grimm. Go figure. It's full of blood and gore. People morph suddenly into scary ugly creatures. I can't get enough of it! But it's the story line that keeps me coming back, not the hideous effects or violence. I've seentoo many creepy movies with no decent story line. The action didn't make sense. And there's usually gratuitous sex or nudity in horror movies. Why female breasts and horror are so closely tied I don't know. Or maybe I do. At least to men, both are thrilling, just in a different way. It just cheapens the movie for the women viewers. Still, I liked the movie Needful Things with Gregory Peck. But it was a good story told by Stephen King. It wasn't horror just for the sake of horror. And it was scary and creepy. But then Gregory Peck added class to everything he did. |
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. Isn't it funny how we take things like electricity and plumbing for granted... until we don't have them. Happy for you!
