A marketing day

Ana was coming to dinner today, and I had, with precision, planned my shopping and cooking out to the minute. I woke up at 0730 ready for action, fed the vermin, took Margaret for her walkies, had a cup or two of tea, did the crossword, and then closed my eyes for a moment. Next thing, it was three hours later and my plan of action was in serious disarray. Hours behind schedule, I scurried to the library and then to my second favorite grocery store, the Promenade Red Apple, which was nearby. I needed tapioca, and I knew that my favorite grocery store wouldn’t have it. My second favorite is fairly near our house, but in the direction we seldom go. While it is within walking distance, it’s far enough, that anything more weighty than a bag of potato chips is too much to carry. So going there is infrequent, and rather a treat. The clientele is largely Mexican, African American, and actual African, and thus they have exotic foods not found in your run of the mill grocery store. There are always unusual vegetables, (I was hoping to show you some cactus, but this seems not to be cactus season) and our favorite section, the Mexican pastries. There is a rather festive atmosphere which I always enjoy, and also some fun memories. One Christmas, Rebecca was making scalloped potatoes to take to our family dinner at my Aunt’s house. She was just starting her preparations when she discovered that they (the potatoes) were nowhere to be found. Frantic, we searched everywhere, pleaded with St. Anthony, but to no avail. So Tom and I were sent on a mission to find potatoes on Christmas Day. Tom was instructed to select the potatoes because Rebecca had no faith in my potato selection capabilities. We drove from store to store, but none were open. Finally, in desperation, we drove to the Red Apple and it was not only open, but it had potatoes. Saved! This last Christmas, my aunt was in Hawaii visiting one of her children, so we had to prepare our own Christmas dinner. Once again, due to my incredible flibbitigibbitiness, the Red Apple saved the day. You can read about that here. Oh, and about the missing potatoes – they turned up several days later in the laundry basket!

A exertional day

Years ago, when I was young (relatively) and fit, I had a roommate who was younger, but significantly less fit. I wanted her to take the occasional bike ride with me, but she never would. She hadn’t ridden since she was little, she said, and then only one of those funny bikes that look like a banana. She was afraid that riding a normal bicycle would be too difficult. I was disappointed, and went on my bike rides alone. One day, I came home and found that she had practiced in a nearby parking lot, and was willing to give it a go. Our first venture was to go to the grocery store – about a mile away. “What if there are hills?” she asked. I reassured her. “It’s flat as a pancake all the way.” To me, it really was flat as a pancake. I guess that “hill” is a relative word. Half way there, she was furious. “You said it was flat! It goes straight uphill. Nearly a 90° incline,” she panted, pink and sweaty. I said that she was mistaken, it was totally flat. By the time we got to the grocery store, she was gasping, beet red, and I feared for her health.

This was brought home to me when, after not being on a bike for a few years, I took my maiden voyage on my new bicycle - to my aunt’s house, which is in the same direction as the grocery store. Suddenly I realized that there actually was a hill there, and that it was very steep. It’s never there when I walk to the store. By the time I reached my destination, I too, was pink and gasping. I thought of my hardness of heart and lack of sympathy with poor Eileen on her first outing up those arduous hills, and I felt guilty.

I must add that Eileen persevered, and we had a lovely vacation cycling around Lopez Island – a nearby cyclists’ paradise. It was made even more thrilling because there was an alleged murderess living there. She was purported to have poisoned her husband's orange juice, chopped him up and hidden the pieces. We were pleasantly thrilled at the thought that we could run into her, but were planning to decline any orange juice she might offer. I now see that she was supposed to have shot him, and then chopped him up, but we thought it was orange juice at the time.

PS Thanks to my blog friend Lorette, the Knitting Doctor, for cluing me in on making the little degree sign on my Mac!

A Dopey Day

 Ana was coming for dinner and a movie.  Most often when she comes, I more or less throw something together at the last minute so that I can do whatever it was that I needed to do during the day.  This time, however, I decided to actually do some cooking.  My menu included a pear and red wine sorbet, a squash and mushroom minestrone, ciabatta, and fruit salad.  None of these items required a lot of fussing-about time, but the bread and the sorbet required sitting-about time.  In other words, I needed to get an early start.   My plan had been to stop at the all-night grocery store on the way home from work, but when I was released from bondage, I was l like a horse on its way back to the stable, mindlessly galloping home, eager for my cup of Ovaltine and my bed.  So, having forgotten to go to the grocery store the evening before, I needed to spring out  of bed the first thing in the morning and go purchase my pears.  I am incapable of genuine springing in the wee ours of the morn, but I did my best and slithered forth  at a somewhat early hour.  Usually, I walk to the store, but since I was in a bit of a hurry, I decided to ride my bicycle – for the first time since autumn.  The last time I rode it, I realized that my usual cool weather attire got caught in the chain, so I carefully selected appropriate clothes.  I made sure I had the canvas totes that would work best in the bike basket.  I checked the tires.  Almost full, but not quite.  They would have to do.  I tested the combination lock to be sure it hadn’t rusted itself together over the winter.  It all checked out, and I was off.  Huffing and puffing, heart racing from the exertion, I arrived at the store, gathered my purchases, and as I approached the checkout line, realized that had forgotten to bring the means to pay.  Aaaaaargh!!!!

I left my selections there in the basket, sadly rode home debating what to do next.  I absolutely was not up for another bike ride uphill with under filled tires.  Walking would make for a really late start.  Margaret suggested that I take the car, and that way she could come and give comfort as we drove along.  Perhaps she engineered the whole thing so she could have an outing. 

An Unusual Day

As I mentioned in the long ago previous post, after the opera marathon, I took to my bed – sick as a dog.  (Question to self – why dogs? Margaret is never sick.)  I had the worst cold ever, and even, for a short while, actually considered going to the doctor.  And it went on and on, seemingly about to last forever.  I was almost out of provisions, and the only one of my nearest and dearest who wasn't working and has a car is Dakki.  She would be willing (happy even,) to shop for me, but she always manages to buy the wrong thing, no matter how specific my instructions.  Last time she shopped for me, all I needed was plain non-fat yogurt.  She got low fat vanilla.  Rachael pointed out that to Dakki, vanilla would be plain, and anything other than full fat would be the equivalent of non-fat – i.e. totally unacceptable to her. So sending Dakki to the store was a no-go.  

On Rebecca’s first day off, she volunteered to cycle over and shop for me, but by that time, I was ready to venture forth, at least as far as the grocery store. So we decided that I would drive to the grocery store, and she would come along for moral support (to me), and also support (to her) with her watermelon, watermelons being cumbersome to carry on a bicycle.   I also needed to pick up books waiting for me at the library. I told her about needing to go to my library on the way, and she said that no, we should go to her library, as she too, had books waiting. Given that I was the driver, and therefore in charge, we decided to go to my library. Suddenly, however, she brightened up, and pointed out that neither library was open yet, and by the time we had done our grocery shopping, we would be near hers, which would then be open.  Hmmmm.  She had a point, so we went to her library.  As we approached it, a huge truck was blocking the street we had planned to turn onto.  The car in front of us had the same idea, and after turning onto the blocked street, decided to back out of it.  Right into our car.  I gaped, frozen, and thought, “My Gosh!  That car is going to run into us!”  Rebecca too stared agape for a moment, and then said, “My Gosh! That car is going to run into us!”  Thunk!!!!  It did.  The poor woman driving it was horrifieded, while we just sat there in stunned amazement.  Fortunately, no damage was done to either car.  Just a few shattered nerves.  Minutes later, after I had dropped Becca, her groceries, and her books off at her house, I was driving up a narrow, quiet, tree lined street, and as I crested the hill I saw a gigantic  truck looming right in front of me, on my side of the street.  Once again, I gaped for a second and then slammed on my brakes.  A block later, I was about to go through a four way stop when it was my turn, and some car did not even slow down, but sped into the intersection, forcing me to slam on my brakes again.  Yikes!  What was going on today?  Was it mad driver Tuesday?  What a relief to arrive home.  I didn’t even consider taking a detour past my library.  The books would still be waiting when I had more fully recovered.  Anyway, Rebecca had leant me the new JK Rowling mystery (the one with 600 other library patrons on the waiting list) which she had somehow managed to check out, and which was not due at her library yet. It was super!

The pictures have nothing to do with this post, but depict my first real day out.  I helped Samos and Michelle paint Michelle’s kitchen, and then we all helped initiate Samos’s new canoe on its maiden voyage.  Such fun!  (Both painting and canoeing.)

A shopping day

This was not really a shopping day, but a sick day with an expedition out for emergency provisions. Prodded by Rebecca, I crawled from my sick bed and we went to Grocery Outlet. This is the favorite grocery store of Rachael, her adorable friend Lillian, Rebecca, Tom, me, and most of our friends. Only one person I know does not like it, and this is related, he says, to his eccentric father and a horrible childhood gastronomic memory. I have never heard the true – or actually any - story, and I am very curious. Rebecca just alludes to it, but it is shrouded in mists. Anyhow, Grocery Outlet is a funky, friendly store in our neighborhood. Grocery Outlet is a chain, but ours is funkiest and best. The one in Tom’s neighborhood is not funky, and not a favorite of anyone. The funkiness is essential. Apparently it buys up rejects or outdated items from non-funky stores, and sells them at fabulous bargain rates. There are many very odd foods as well as non-food items. Last time I went, there was a table with CD’s, mostly Gospel or Country Western. The next time, the table was gone. On some days, there is a hot dog stand with a vendor whom Rachael and Lillian love. Once I got Jacob’s Cream Crackers, my most high favorite, and only bought four packs. The next time, they were gone. One must act quickly at Grocery Outlet. A few months ago, I was making a macaroni dinner for Ana and Rachael, and suddenly I had no macaroni. I went to Grocery Outlet, and the only macaroni was tennis rackets. Rachael is a very sensitive eater (remember the poppy seeds in the rice), and had a difficult time eating tennis rackets, but she soldiered on, since the overall dish was good despite odd macaroni.

In addition to a passion for Jacob’s Cream Crackers, graham crackers (must be Honey Maid!) are also my favorite cracker. It is possible for them both to be favorite crackers, because they fill completely different cracker niches. Only a true crackerphile will understand this. And I love ginger. What a find these were. They had a high awfulness-potential, but on the other hand, they might be wonderful, combining two of my top foods. They appear to be a seasonal treat, so I probably will never see them again either. Well…….. I tried them and they are …. Wonderful! Super Yummers! Will I ever be able to have more? One can only hope, and scour the aisles of Grocery Outlet.

More of the pleasant day

When Rebecca was a baby, my friend Madeline and I went grocery shopping every Friday, and this was the highpoint of my week. Now that I am a working woman, I generally don’t really like shopping at all, and marvel that I once found it to be such an adventure. However, the last few days, I have been more or less confined to the house, and grocery shopping has exponentially gained in appeal. When saintly Suzanne came to visit Tom, she suggested that I might like to run some errands. Wow! A trip to the grocery store! I was thrilled. I visited my favorite grocery store, and this was a little sad because I usually go with Tom. We chat with our favorite checkout lady, and I was relieved that she was not there. She would have asked where Tom was, and I would have cried. But they had a deal on mangos, the true food of the goddesses, which that comforted me a bit. Yesterday, when Rebecca was here, I walked to Safeway to get some of the odd foods that Tom is craving. Since the last chemo, he does not like any of his usual favorites, and things that he used to reject now have appeal – i.e. Cocoa Krispies. (Ick!) He has always been a salty guy, and now he is a sweet guy – foodwise, that is. He actually has always been both of those things in daily life. On the way, I took some pictures to immortalize my trip. I saw lovely grasses, and this young man sitting on his front porch. He looks a bit crabby, but actually he was very pleasant, and told me that if I made a lot of money with his picture, I must share it with him. I told him, that it was unlikely that I would (make money, I mean.)

Shopping Days

Ballyfree bowl and mug

Thirty years ago, shopping for dinner fixings in Ireland was a daily challenge, and often an adventure.  The corner grocery store where we bought rice and tinned food was a tiny shop with shelves up to the ceiling.  We brought in our list and handed it to the grocer.  He was a lovely fellow who always had the time to inquire about our day, or ask about “herself” when Rebecca was in school instead of helping me with the shopping.  Checking our list, he would climb up the ladder to gather our purchases for us. The bill was totted up on the brown paper bag.   He was amazed at how often we bought rice, and assumed that this was an American thing.  Why didn’t we eat more potatoes, he wondered.  Well, I’m a potato fan, but the potato crop that year was a bit of a flop and the potatoes were not at all appealing. They were aged hard things that didn’t cook up nicely at all.  We even read of potato trucks being ambushed and their cargo stolen.  We loved to shop with our friendly grocer, but he didn’t have most of what we needed so we usually had to venture further afield to assemble the ingredients for a complete meal .  The butcher shop down the street had dead cows hanging outside, gathering flies.  We didn’t go there, of course, and in fact, had to cross the road to avoid the stench of aging meat.  But a bit further on was a bakery where we bought our daily bread and our delicious teatime cakes.  Other provisions required trips to town.  We went to the vegetable store, the spice store, and were delighted to find a health food store where we could get dried beans and rice varieties beyond Uncle Ben’s.  We had several favorite delicatessens, and were thrilled when we found one which sold olives.  Once I was about to board a bus in front of the vegetable store when the clerk came running out and grabbed me.  “We have just gotten some Romaine lettuce,” he said. “I know that all Americans like Romaine.  I saved some for you!”  Actually, we preferred the usual Irish variety of lettuce, but I bought some anyway.  It’s the thought that counts, you know, and what could be more thoughtful than that? Then there was the Ballyfree egg store!  There, of course, one bought eggs, but also one could turn in the little Ballyfree emblems from off the egg cartons, and redeem them for Ballyfree crockery.  I was mad for the crockery, and as we were enthusiastic egg eaters, I collected the emblems quickly.  I first got a little egg cup, then another.  The egg cups were not that cute, but they didn’t require many emblems.  I got a mug and a bowl (very cute), but the thing I really lusted after was the milk jug (super cute.)  This took a LOT of emblems.  Could I get that many before the end of our Irish sabbatical?  My friends all bought Ballyfree eggs and saved me their emblems for me.  The number of my emblems grew!  Finally, one triumphant day, I turned in my more than seventy emblems and got the long coveted milk jug.  It was one of my finest treasures, and I delighted in serving milk for our tea in it.

Ballyfree milk jug from  etsy shop.  Already sold! 

I served milk in it for several years, but then one fateful day, a certain little girl who shall remain nameless, was doing something naughty.  I said, “Stop that” You’ll break my Ballyfree milk jug!”  But she didn’t stop! Crash! I was devastated. Usually, I was not angry about accidental breakages if they were really accidents.  But when one says to one’s child, “Stop that or this terrible thing will happen,” and then it happens, one is more inclined to be bitter.  It’s horrible, but I was bitter about this for years! Years! 

Angelic Becca has tried to atone by getting me several lovely milk jugs over time, and I love all of them.  She got me the green one shortly after the disaster, and it is actually quite a bit prettier than the poor Ballyfree one, but still….   Now it is very aged so I no longer use it for milk, but have it on display in my kitchen.  I think loving thoughts about my darling girl every time I look at it.  The autumn leaf one is a somewhat more recent gift, and it too seems too nice and delicate to use, so it is also on display. But then ….. we were wandering through the Metropolitan Market recently, whiling away time before the opera, when Becca spotted --- the perfect milk jug!  Cute, but not to beautiful to use! Not too delicate looking, and just the right size! I am happy every time I pour milk from it into my tea.

A frustrating day

Right now I am frustrated because a cuddly cat is lying across the arm with which I am trying to type. But that is neither here nor there. It’s business as usual. Why have I been frustrated? It is all my own fault, and the true cause is my own laziness. I have to prepare morning treats for my choir on this upcoming Sunday, and this is somewhat of a competitive event. Rebecca has been the acknowledged champion in previous years, and she is working those days, and so won’t be able to help. She has made suggestions and has given me her recipes, but I have never made any of them before, and I am a slow cooker (I don’t mean a pot, but a person!) How will I ever get it all done on time? I am so upset, that fear has cast me into a state of inaction. In years previous, the two of us have cooked for the two days prior! I have to work today, and I haven’t even done the shopping! I went to my favorite grocery store and got much of what was wanted, including these lovely peppers. They sell everything by the each, and there was no scale. I couldn’t believe it! I got what I thought might be enough, and went about whimpering from store person to store person, and finally the vegetable man said that he thought there was a cheese scale in the back. And, indeed, there was. I did not have even half the amount needed, so it is a good thing I didn’t guess. When I finished there, I should have gone to TJ’s and completed my shopping, but I was not up to it. I thought it would be much easier to do it when I was out and about after choir practice. Then the huge amount of groceries would be divided into two loads. However, on my way home late last evening, I went to Trader Joe’s to get the rest of my supplies, and the Trader was closed. Aaaaaaaaak! Someone was shutting down his power because of nearby construction, and he closed early. Now I will have to be a dynamo on Saturday, and I don’t have much dynamism within me. I shall have to pray really hard to St. Martha to get me through this. As you can see in this picture , Martha is looking a bit testy about having to do all that cooking, and that is just how I will look tomorrow!

A Shopping Day

“I’m a little embarrassed about one of my purchases,” I told one of my favorite checkout ladies at my favorite grocery store.  Her eyes lit up, and she eagerly looked through the contents of my grocery cart.  When she saw what I was buying, she was visibly disappointed, but agreed that it was a necessary purchase, and only the tiniest bit embarrassing.  Then she happily told me of other patron’s far more embarrassing purchases, often hidden deep down under heads of lettuce and bags of apples. We could hardly stop shrieking with laughter, and got jealous stares from other clientele and employees.  Sorry, but this is a G-rated blog, so I can’t fill you in. Hint: it was not an incontinence product. That would no doubt embarrass me, but one would just have to get over it.  What in the world could be embarrassing from Grocery Outlet?  Well, these super tacky leopard print reading glasses are a little embarrassing, but they only cost $2, and I will wear them only in the privacy of my own home, and I am, of course, a consenting adult, so it’s okay, despite how hideous they are.  Hideous but sort of cute!

The real embarrassment? Well, I've been reading lately that chocolate is good for you in so many ways, so I decided to get some for medicinal purposes.  And why go half way? I went whole hog.  Yum!

Such weakness!  I feel like a piggy.  Sooo embarrassing!

A Beautifying Day

Every time my home phone rings, I get a little nervous, wondering who it is, and if it is ringing to alert me to some disaster.  This fear stems from the time my parents began to get very frail, and it too often actually was someone from their residence calling to alert me to some new problem.  Now that my parents have earned their heavenly reward, and thus there are no more calls from Exeter House, and since most people call me on my cell phone,  I still worry.  The only folk who call me on that phone are the aunties , and one has to worry about them at least a little, or my job asking why I am not there (fortunately, I only get this call about once every five years when I, or more often, they, have somehow mixed up my schedule)– or could I pleeeeeese come in and work extra.  I get this call fairly frequently. Being a girl who can’t say no, I always wait for the answering machine to tell me who it is and what they want before I answer.  That way, I don’t have to say that, no, I can’t work extra.  I just consider a moment, decide I really don’t want to work extra, listen to them plead, and then say nothing at all.  So I was being my usual cautious self when the call came from my favorite grocery store.   I had won the drawing for a gift certificate!  The certificate would be for the amount of the money  that my receipt (the drawing ticket) said I had saved.  Well, thanks to my friend Marta (not the Marta with the blog on my sidebar, but a different Marta, also in my choir), I had saved quite a lot.  I often meet her there, especially after church on Sunday, and we sometimes go through the aisles together.  This Sunday, she pointed out a facial cream which she had tried and liked.  Its original price was $56, but at fabulous Grocery Outlet, it was only $6! 

What a bargain! She suggested I try it, I could not resist, and so I bought some.  At her suggestion, I also got these facial masque treatment things (60¢ each) to try as well. She had purchased one the week before, but not tried it out yet. I thought that perhaps I could transform myself from an old hag into a sparkling young beauty!  Rebecca and I gave it a go, and found it a little messy.  Also a little difficult to drink one’s tea without getting a sip of face goo along with the tea.  I used a straw, but Becca gave up on tea and just waited.  She didn’t do tea with a straw.  Not hot tea anyway.  Mine, being cooled with a judicious dollop of milk, was tepid enough to sip up like a nice ice cream soda. 

After our beauty treatment, we went to Grocery Outlet to collect my prize.  I told her I would get her a present with my winnings, but all she got was a jar of peaches and another of olives.  I would never be so restrained if my mom were treating. 

P.S. Still an old hag.

A Shopping Day

I made a trip to my favorite grocery store – Grocery Outlet – where you can get fabulous bargains on brands you've never heard of.  I needed three items, and as usual got way more than three, but that’s another story.  One of the things I desperately needed was dishwashing soap (or washing up liquid, as my friend Bethie would now say.)  I do most of my shopping at Trader Joe’s, but their dishwashing liquid is a little on the wimpy side.  Becca and I both tried to be PC and use ecological soap, but it just didn’t do its job. The greasy dishes were still greasy when the washing up was done.  A sad situation.  Sooooo, I have a guilty secret.  I use bad dishwashing soap.  Don’t tell a soul, please. Anyhow, sometimes Grocery Outlet has good soap choices, and sometimes it doesn’t.  It’s chancy, and I felt like taking a chance.  I headed right for the cleaning products aisle, and there was only one choice.  I was staring at it, wondering, when another woman came up beside me and stared and wondered for a while too.  “What do you think it means?” she asked.  “Non-Ultra?”    

“Hmmmm!  I was wondering myself.  Something other than Ne Plus Ultra, I am sure.”  She agreed.  We both also agreed that the price was right, and if it didn’t work, we weren’t out that much.  So we will see.  Non-Ultra is a pretty mysterious name for anything that wants to be sold, I would think.  

A madeleine sort of day

Samos and I were looking through some very old sheet music of popular tunes from long ago.  The main interest in most of these fox trot and ballad sheets is not the music itself – too frequently awful, but the cute covers with illustrations from the twenties or early thirties.   I noticed this one with a wholesome looking couple, no doubt the performers, on the cover.  When I read the names, I was astonished.  Ozzie and Harriet!  Logic aside, I never imagined they had ever been so young. Seeing them, I might as well have had a madeleine!   What a flood of memories! 

My mother was a holdout in the matter of television, so we didn’t have one till long after everyone else did.  Consequently, after lights were officially out, I sometimes surreptitiously listened to the radio.  I don’t think I listened very often, as, given my mother’s vigilance,  the subterfuge was difficult, but I recall listening to a few – The Lone Ranger, Amos and Andy, and Ozzie and Harriet.  I loved them.  A few years later, when my mother finally succumbed to pressure from my brother and I, we did get a television, and I was thrilled to find that the Nelsons had a weekly show.  Ricky and David were a little older (as was I), but I still loved them.  When I was in high school, Ricky Nelson was a teen idol, and of course, he was my idol too.  I owned about three popular records, and “Hello, Mary Lou” was one of them.   

As Samos and I drove together to the store, I was babbling on to him about Ozzie and Harriet, and he, who was not even born during the Nelson heyday, listened politely to an old lady’s reminiscences.  My favorite grocery store often has cute music from my youth, but I was stunned when we walked in, to hear “Hello, Mary Lou!”  It was almost mystic!  In fact, the coincidence made me happy all day.  I probably would have been happy all day anyway, but it made me a little happier. 

A shook up day

Yesterday morning, I was taking a walk to the grocery store, to get the fixings for dinner with Ana, and halfway there, discovered that the school yard through which I normally walk to get to the store, was locked up! I was pretty grumpy about this because it meant going about three blocks out of my way. I called Rebecca to grumble, but since she was at work, I grumbled to her voice mail. I stepped off the curb, and sort of collapsed to the pavement and landed in my knees and chin! What a shock that was! I examined my knees and hands for blood and there was none, so I sat down on the grass to recover and decide what to do. Call someone and get sympathy was the obvious thing, but Rachael didn’t answer her phone. I knew if I called my sainted auntie she would want to come get me and would make a satisfying fuss, but I didn’t really feel the need to be gotten, so I soldiered on. By the time I got to Trader Joe’s, there was blood everywhere – a mystery at first as my knees and head were what hurt, and I had rather forgotten about my chin. I did generate some slightly repulsed but polite sympathy from the teller at Trader Joe’s, but that was not quite the same. On the way back I called Rachael again, and she made the right noises, and gasped appropriately when I got home. However, I knew where the real cosseting lay. I picked these lovely tomatoes and took some to my auntie, and she was most gratifyingly horrified. She wanted to do this and that, and then called up just a few minutes ago to get a health status report. She reiterated the whole misadventure, and speculated at length as to the possible causes of my odd fall. Most satisfying. My dinner with Ana was very pleasant, and we afterwards worked on winding her yarn into skeins. As we were eating our dessert, I pointed out that my chin had been bleeding all day, and was still bleeding. “Maybe I am turning into a hermaphrodite,” I speculated. Ana laughed and said she didn’t think so. I told you that my head got jostled!

PS. When Rachael was quite a large bun in the oven, Rebecca fell into a mud puddle in the very spot where I sat to recover. This means that all three of us have taken a tumble right there! Mysterious, don't you think?

A Birthday

Today is my birthday! As usual, I wasn’t really into it, and hadn’t mentioned it to those who probably would wish to be reminded. I always wake up not into it, but generally family and friends rev me up, and by evening, if I am having dinner or party, I get pretty excited. This year, since both Rebecca and Rachael were working, I decided to hermitize at home and see if anyone remembered. My friend Samos is really into birthdays. “It’s two weeks till my birthday,” he used to tell me. “It’s eight more days. I hope you’re ready!” etc. So I was a little surprised not to hear from him. At around noon, the phone rang, and it was he. He said, “I’m coming to town. How about lunch together.” I wasn’t very hungry, but said we could go grocery shopping and get a snack. That was fine, so off we went to my favorite grocery store, where we saw these wonderful squashes. After that, we debated about where to get a snack, and decided to go to this funky little Mexican restaurant. We both had always wanted to go there, but were a little nervous about it. It is not far from my house, but in the very part of the neighborhood where, not too long ago, driving through, one always used to lock the car doors and keep an eye out for the pimps and dealers with their gats – the very scary part of town. Everything there is newish and respectable now – the pimps are gone, the dealers have moved a few blocks south, but this one restaurant remains from the bad old days. We felt a little frisson of daring. I wanted only a tiny thing to eat, and he wanted real lunch. “Who’s paying,?” I asked, knowing full well that he had paid last time. “I think it’s your turn,” he said. Had our lunches been more equal, I would have just paid. However, “It’s my birthday,” I announced. Was I not naughty? He was horrified. How could he have forgotten! Of course he would pay. He couldn’t believe he had forgotten. What luck that he had called. Yes indeed, it was good luck. I had a very pleasant outing and a nice lunch at a cute restaurant, not scary at all (except for the headless horseman pumpkin), and a fun time with a good friend.

PS Ana and Julie remembered, but those aunties - so far, at least, did not!!! I had better call and remind them or they will be upset.

A "Yay!" Day

Photo taken by A Twin when I couldn't get my camera to work.

As I said in my previous blog post, I lost my camera.  I had been going to post pictures from a Camino Walk through the Olympic Sculpture Park with The Twins, and another through the wilds of West Seattle with Laura. 

Longfellow Creek in West Seattle

I was not unduly upset, because (A), I had a cadre of friends and relations interceding with St. Anthony, and (B), I felt that it had to be somewhere in my house.  Once my mother went clothes shopping, and stopped at the grocery store on her way home.  A few days later, there was an unpleasant aroma in her closet.  Checking it out, she discovered a thoroughly thawed and bloody chicken among her many shoeboxes.  Horrified, she got rid of it and then immediately checked the freezer.  There was her new dress, still in its box, quite chilled, and neatly stowed in the meat section of the deep freeze.

I was quite certain that something similar had happened to my camera. The last time I had used it was on my outing with Laura, and while I couldn’t find my camera or the pouch which I transfer from purse to purse, I did have my Dumpling Dynasty coin purse which I keep with the camera.  I reviewed the day numberless times.  I searched the purse I had used over and over.  It is difficult to lose a camera in a purse, I know, but … whatever.  There was always a chance, knowing St. Anthony’s tricks and manners.  Sometimes he puts the lost object in the exact place that you have looked at least five times.  I looked in the my car.  No luck.  Finally, today after doing grocery shopping, I opened the boot to put the groceries in, and there was a totally other purse than the one I was positive I had used.  Just like our former president, I had misremembered.  Then I recalled considering which purse to take, given the length of our walk (very long,) the heat of the day (very hot,) and the stuff needed for the outing (seemingly a lot – bird books, plant books, refreshments, etc.) I had changed my mind at the last minute. 

Seaside flora

So now I am here to say, “Yay!  Thank you St. Anthony, and thanks to all my friends who prayed to him for me.”  He is an amazing fellow!!!!!

An artistic photo of an artistic thing in the Sculpture Park

A Really Horrible Day

Think soothing thoughts, Joanna.  All will be well!

I have had a seriously horrible day.  A couple of horrible days, in fact.  I told you in a recent post about the demise of my beloved sewing machine.  Well, while I had my hand cranked one to get me by, it wasn’t really satisfactory, so Becca investigated sewing machines and ordered me a new one.  As sewing machines go these days, the new one is very basic.  Very, very basic – but nonetheless, way more complex than its predecessor, and I was suitably intimidated by its sleek lines, totally different look with arcane knobs, levers, and markings.  I stared at it periodically, but for several days, always had something more important to do than to figure out how to use it.  Finally, I forced myself to knuckle down, read the instruction booklet and then sit in front of the sewing machine, manual in my lap, and actually stitched a little something. The next day, having conquered the basics, I was working away on my tablecloth (which I have come to resent horribly – as the seeming author of many of my recent woes,) and thinking – actually thinking – that I bet Becca is afraid to sew over pins. Suddenly, as I was sewing over a pin, Snap! Bang!  The needle hit a pin, broke, and wedged the now bent pin into a little slot where pins are not meant to be. I replaced the needle, but the machine said only “whirr, whirr,” and refused to sew.  I called local service center, and the nice woman tried to help me diagnose the problem - related to feed dogs (Margaret was interested in this, but it had nothing to do with dogs or food) - over the phone, but none of her suggestions worked.  So this morning, at the crack of dawn, after minimal sleep, when I had only done a couple of clues on my crossword, and was really not at all ready to face the day, Becca and I forged our way to the sewing machine shop in far distant Ballard.  The problem was quickly solved, but I was a little undone by the journey itself, and totally done in by the time we got home.  It was Family Kitchen day, and washing hundreds of dishes, trays, pots and pans, just had no appeal.  I was planning to make blackberry vinegar, and had to do it this very day, as the blackberries were ripe and would get icky quickly.  On our journey, Becca and I had gone to two different grocery stores, and both times, I forgot to get the vinegar I needed for the recipe.  So after the Family Kitchen, I went to yet another grocery store, to buy bottles of white wine vinegar.  After standing in a humongous line with my vinegar, I reached in my pocket for my money, and realized I had left it home.  I inwardly said several bad words, and then debated what to do.  I remembered that I had a little emergency cash secreted in my car, so I got that, paid, and finally came home to prepare my blackberries.  I looked at the recipe again, and saw that it called not for white wine vinegar, but for rice vinegar, so the white wine vinegar ordeal was all for naught.  Another bad word escaped me.  Fortunately, I had rice vinegar, and so was able to do step one of my concoction.  Then, as I was having guests for lunch tomorrow, I needed to vacuum.  I did one room, and was thinking, actually thinking, “All I need now is for my vacuum cleaner to poop out!”  At that very moment, it sputtered, groaned, emitted that odious smell of burning electrical things, and died. I could not believe it.  This time, I had to actually shriek the bad words.  This made me feel a little better.  I called Becca and she pointed out that the cat hair on my dark rug was really contrasty, and my guests would be horrified.  Not really a comfort.  Oh well, I think the best thing I can do now is go to bed.  So I will.

Birds are singing somewhere!

Update next morning:  Turned off light, closed eyes, was strafed by a wretched mosquito.  Restrained bad words.  Today will definitely be better.