A fashionable day

Yesterday, as I was getting ready for work I thought of my mother. I put on my petticoat, and noticed that it was getting a bit tatty. My mother, like Rachael, was a fashionista in her day. She was always perfectly turned out, not in the latest thing, but in some classic thing. When I was small, and saw pictures of the Duchess of Windsor, I thought the Duchess had been copying my mom in looks and fashion. My lack of interest in these things was one of Mother's life sorrows. I recall a hat she wanted me to wear to church when I was about four, a straw hat with a wide brim and velvet trim. I would not wear it. To entice me to wear it, she said that Margaret O’Brien had one like it but I was unmoved, having no idea who Margaret O’Brien was. Now, in retrospect, I realize that it was an attractive hat, and I would have been quite cute in it. Another of her lifelong sorrows was my hair. Once I was of an age to decide on my own hairdo (older than you might think, as she exerted quite an influence these things in my early life,) I wore it like Mary Travers, which was pretty de rigueur in my hippie days. However, she hated my hair, and strove manfully but unsuccessfully to get me to change it. Many years later, my mother, still fixated on my hair, said that I had “wasted my youth with that hairdo.”
However lovely her outfits looked, her underwear was another thing. She just didn’t seem to care so much about it, and it and her pajamas could often be a quite shabby. Rebecca and I, who don’t care that much about what we wear as long as it covers us up, always have nice undergarments, and always like to have nice pajamas. My poor mother once said, “Rebecca certainly looks awful all day, and then dresses up to go to bed.”
After noting that my slip was getting tatty and would need replacement very soon, I selected the color shoes I wanted to wear, and then a scrub top to match them. This top demanded a white skirt, and I have one which belonged to my mother at least 50 years ago. It still looks nice, and whenever I wear it, other nurses want to know where I got it. It is a linen-like wrap-around which ties in the front. So I was quite thinking of my mom as I went to work in her skirt and scruffy underwear. Later in the evening, I looked down and noted that my skirt was several inches longer than it had been when I put it on. Yikes! That could have been a disaster. I slipped into an empty room and fixed the almost undone ties, averting serious embarrassment. The world might have seen my tatty slip! This too reminded me of my mother. Once, before I knew her, she was coming out of church when she felt her knickers falling off. She pretended not to notice, and gracefully stepped right out of them, leaving some caretaker later to wonder what could have been going on there. That, in my mind , is the price one pays for not taking more care with the unseen.

A Jarndyce sort of day

A friend of ours used never to open his mail. This often got him into trouble, and I could not fathom how one could be like that. Well, now that I am, by default, so to speak, the executor of Tom’s will, I have full understanding of my friend’s dilemma and his motivation, or lack thereof. I am not against money, per se. It is nice to be able to buy groceries, and the occasional new chair. However, money in the abstract is an anathema to me. When my father’s financial advisor calls to advise, my eyes glaze over, and the sound from the phone is like those garbled spots one saw in movies in Ireland years ago (I am sure it is all different now,) when the characters said something naughty. Their mouths went, but nothing understandable came out. My brain just turns off. I got a bill from the lawyer, telling me how much it cost me for her to read my email, etc., I began to feel like a ward in Jarndyce, and this prompted me to think I had better start thinking about getting Tom’s affairs organized before his the whole of his property is gobbled up by “costs.” The glazed look and fuzzy hearing had protected me from it so far, but the time had come, etc. Not that I hadn’t been fretting about it all quite mightily, and lain awake nights worrying about my lack of motivation -- I just hadn’t done anything but toss the unopened mail into a box. I started by making a list of all I really had to do. I have been to the bank already four times to set up his account, and always some bit is missing, or the only person there who knows how to help me is at lunch, or, or,or……… In short, Grrrrrr. I got half of that done, but the person who was to have the other half done and waiting for me was rushing off to an important meeting, no doubt her lunch, and denied having said she would have it ready when I returned. It seems that for each facet of this, there is only one person who is able to do it. Orchestration of the whole thing is not easy. Too late, I found copies of the thing I had signed that she was supposed to be finishing up, but I am sure if I call her, she will still deny it. It will require another trip to the bank and more frustration. But back to the list. It is often quite helpful to make lists, I find, as sometimes I discover that the task is more manageable than I had thought, and broken down into small tasks makes it all seem less insuperable. So, while all I have really done is part of the bank business, open the mail, and make a list, I feel that I am - well, not really on a roll, but at least not quite as static as last week.
This picture is Maria guarding the teapot, which is an important adjunct in doing tedious paperwork.

A fun Cooking day

Becca and I were having a fun cooking day today, and for starters I made some banana bread from some soon to be yucky bananas. This brought about a revelation. I decided to make my usual recipe from the New York Times Cookbook, and Becca said, “You can’t. You don’t have the cereal.” “It doesn’t have cereal in it,” I said. “Yes, it does,” she who is always right said. (But not this time!) It turned out that for years, she has been thinking she was making the same recipe I always made in her youth, and I thought so too, but there are two recipes in the book, and they are on pages behind one another rather than across from one another, so we both thought there was only one and that we were both making it. She gave me the secret of her secret “greasing the pan” substance. This is a goo made up in batches which last quite a while, and grease quite a few pans. The ingredients are pictured – equal parts flour, Crisco, and cooking oil, and then a little blob of lecithin – all stirred till smooth. You then save it in some sort of cute tin like the one we use, shown here. I knew she made this concoction, and that it worked very well, but was never au fait to the particulars until today. And it did work well. The banana bread fairly leapt out of the pan when I asked it to.
Later we made black olive gnocchi – a recipe from the NYT - carrot salad and sautéed zucchini. The gnocchi had olive tapenade as an ingredient. I love olives in any form, so I was shocked when I tasted this and it was disgusting. The gnocchi dough was a little disgusting as well, so I was worried. Rebecca said, “ Never fear, they will taste better when cooked.” As usual (see above) she was right and they were delicious. I was a little undone by the time they were done, and so there are no pictures. While they were delicious, they were kind of ugly, so that may be just as well.

A scary afternoon

Suzanne and my auntie were coming to lunch, and I made pretzels again, this time with actual lye, which I had finally been able to purchase. The can of lye, of course, had all kinds of dire warnings, and the recipe in my Bread Bible insisted that I wear full hazmat gear when preparing them. I am a timid creature, and all this frightened me, so I had Rachael come down and stand by as moral support, which she did with her little improvised gas mask. She was a great comfort. The resultant pretzels, not pretzel shaped, but rather tiny torpedoes, were very yummy. The ones I made earlier with butter were good, but these caustic ones were way better. As you can see here, the kitties were undeterred by chemical danger, and were eager to assist in the meal preparation.

Turkish Delight

Tom told me that years ago, Howard and his friends had a secret joke having to do with Junior Mints. Tom was never privy to this joke, but he said that the very mention of Junior Mints would send them into gales of laughter. Slightly lascivious laughter. Dennis, my erstwhile spouse, and I had a similar relationship with Turkish Delight. Any mention of (not to speak of an actual piece of) Turkish Delight would set us off, sometimes till we had tears running down. And I don’t think either of us really knew what exactly we were laughing about. I don’t even remember how it all started, but I can imagine that it was when we lived in Ireland. I probably purchased some Turkish Delight for a treat and brought it home. Dennis would have taken one look at it, cocked an eyebrow, given me his rakish smile, and that would have been it. Somehow, not even knowing what the perverse thing was that we were laughing at made it all the more funny. The imagination goes wild. Well, here is some unsexy but very delicious Turkish Garden Delight. I made it for my work lunch today and it was très yummy. Many of my colleagues wanted to know how I made it, so here it is. It is a nice way to use some of your summer tomatoes.
Pour hot water over half a cup of bulgur and let it sit for 20 minutes or so, until it is soft. Mix up about 2 tablespoons of nice olive oil and the juice of half a lemon. Stir in some salt and pepper. Mix it into the bulgur, and add some green leaves – mint is traditional, but I had basil and parsley so that is what I used. Plus, I like them better. Add about ¼ cup chopped onion and a lot of chopped tomatoes. That’s all there is to it!

Happy Birthday, Becca!

I can’t believe that it is Becca’s birthday again. It seems like she was born yesterday – well, not quite. We had an intimate dinner with the aunties, and my functions were to assemble this cake (baked by Becca), and to clear a space for us to eat. Since everything needed to be cooked at the last minute, we had to eat in the dining room. This room has been a repository of junk since well before the death of Tom. First, it was full of medical equipment, and then with much of his stuff which still needed to be dealt with and sorted. So the top of the table has not seen the light of day in quite some time. I definitely needed a push to get working on this. I cannot pretend that it is all put away, because some of it just moved to a more inconspicuous space, and will eventually come back. But nonetheless, it is much better. Hence this uninteresting picture of an uninteresting table. It is a bit of a milestone. I had several presents for Becca, some of which I purchased on my downtown foray on Thursday after the terrible medical event. I usually always put my secret purchases in the same place, and when, in the afternoon before our dinner, I went to look for them….. the were not there. Frantic, I thought I had left them on the bus. However, St. Anthony to the rescue once again. I was so relieved when I found them, that I completely forgot my major presents. Rebecca knew all about one of them, having picked it out herself, and wondered where it was but was too polite to ask. It was not until today that I realized I had forgotten half her gifts. Then I debated about saving them for Christmas, but decided that would not be nice.

A medical day

Yesterday I went to the clinic to endure one of the “woes that women are heir to,” and afterwards treated myself to some Mexican candy from the Market. Here is one of the always enjoyable Market sights. I had to step up some iron grillwork stairs to get this picture, and my stomach acrophobicly lurched although I was no more than 10 feet off the real ground. However, my devotion to my dear readers carried my through. I never could have participated in Sabine's London adventure. They would have had to carry off my limp form.

A spendthrift day

I have been having a “nothing-to-blog-about” few days lately – mostly just working. On my day off, Rebecca wanted to go to Ikea, and I agreed to take her although I did not need anything from there. I so thoroughly planned to show restraint that I didn’t even take a shopping bag with me. I did not need one single thing, and the only money I was going to spend was to buy us lunch. We love Ikea lunch, especially the vegetarian lasagne – the best anywhere. I always have a terrible pang when I see the pickled herring – one of life’s little delights and one of my few vegetarian sorrows. As we rolled our cart along, Rebecca pointed out this and that which she was sure I really needed, and generally managed to convince me. I came home with a ton of stuff, and she was delighted at my downfall. I found a nice rug for Tom’s room to replace the $3 Ikea rug that was already there, and Rebecca found a nice medicine chest for my bathroom. This was something I really did need, as Rachael has a vast collection of facial and body potions. The cabinet we have, if it could even be called a cabinet, is quite minute. I went into the bathroom to imagine it in the spot where it was to be, and realized there was an electric outlet there. Boo! I got a very ugly but very utile bag for my choir book and choir necessaries (tissues, cough sweets, knitting, etc.), a special teapot for when Ana and I have flower tea, (“You got a special teapot for tea with one person???” Rachael asked incredulously. “No, it’s for a special sort of tea that I only drink with Ana!”), and this last little purchase, one of the prizes of the trip – what could that be? Why dog-walkies cleanup bags, of course.

A tearful evening

My friend Maria made me a CD of Tom’s funeral to send to his family, as they were unable to attend. It was playing in my car on my way home from the evening Mass, when the Hymn of Praise, Come Down O Love Divine, which Tom had selected began, and a welter of feeling overcame me. This hymn had special meaning for Tom and his partner Howard, organist at St. James until his death in 1992. The hymn brought thoughts of Tom, Howard and their much loved Dalmatian Fleurie. Shortly before Tom died, we were talking about Fleurie, and I mentioned that she would be waiting at the Rainbow Bridge for him. Naturally, an intellect and theologian like Tom had never heard about the Rainbow Bridge. I first heard about it years ago when Rebecca and Ana were talking about how silly it was and were feeling a bit superior to anyone sentimental enough to put credence in such a thing. I agreed with them completely until the veterinarian send me a copy after the death of my little Cairn terrier Leslie. I opened the letter, read the Rainbow Bridge, and sneered no more. The thought of my little Leslie waiting there for me was such a comfort, and brought a soothing wash of tears. It was the same for Tom. He became quite excited at the thought of meeting Fleurie in the next day or two. “But what if she has already gone in with Howard?” he worried. “She won’t have,” I assured him. “She was mainly your dog, and loved you best. Anyhow, maybe she and Howard will both be there to greet you.” Tom seemed quite relieved at this, and the idea of the Rainbow Bridge brought him another bit of happiness. Not that he needed one. He was quite contented at the thought of his upcoming death, and was eagerly anticipating seeing Jesus face to face. Would that we all could meet death so.

A pleasant day

Yesterday I decided to make grissini again, as they are relatively quick to make and fun to eat. Then I decided that, since woman does not live by breadsticks alone, I should make soup to go with them. Rachael, a girl who does not like 96% of all food, and can detect the slightest taint of some unloved item in her dinner, does not care for soup particularly – unless there is lots of bread to sop it up with. Well, there would be grissini – so the decision was – what soup to make. When a baby, she loved spinach soup, so I decided to make that. I recalled that the très yummy recipe I had used was Julia Child and took all day, while Rebecca had one that was equally good and did not take long at all. However, I had Julia Child and did not have Rebecca’s. Now I am wondering why I thought that Julia’s was so much work, as, while certainly not “kwik ‘n easy,” it was not that much trouble to make either. Dinner was coming along nicely, when I decided to invite the aunties who always have dinner together after church on Saturdays. I reached them as they were about to leave, and since they had been planning to order pizza, they were quite pleased to come. Then, since my aunt Pauline always expects dessert, and since they are old ladies (relative to Rachael, I mean, )I decided to make prune whip – well known as an old lady favorite, and a favorite of mine. Not a favorite of Rebecca, I might add. In fact, she sneers and jokes about folks who eat prune whip, so I always feel a bit rebellious when I make it. (Along with the delightful flavor and texure of prunes, an added frisson!) When they arrived, I was in a bit of a culinary frenzy, and forgot to take a picture, so here is the aftermath of the dinner – teacups. We had a lot of fun, I thought, and since it was a last minute invitation, there was not the usually pre-company anxiety on my part.
Later I plopped into bed, very tired, and when I woke up as Rachael was going to bed, I realized that the characters in book I had just been reading, Turgenev’s “Fathers and Sons” had were having some sort of complex internet intrigue. “How odd,” I thought. “And in nineteenth century Russia!” Then I realized that I had continued reading in my dreams and would have to reread the last bit this evening, as, of course, there was no internet in nineteenth century Russia.

Creepy Man Update

The Creepy Man has gotten a haircut and beard trim, making him look more normal. This somehow makes him seem way more creepy. Go figure. He has changed his hours, and now sometimes rants during the daylight times, as seen here in his usual spot, and often changes his venue, ranting at night from nearby but out of sight – probably behind the bushes. At night, I can hear him, but don’t see him on his usual corner.

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 fungal day

Update on Refrigerator Cleaning! I mentioned that I cleaned my refrigerator on Sunday, but I had forgotten to clean out the cheese drawer. Later, I gasped in horror when I opened it. This specimen was even in an apt bag. I must have picked the bag up at work to send something to the lab, and then the patient wouldn't cough, or poop, or whatever, so I stuck the bag in my pocket. Later, at home, it seemed like a valuable bag for storing cheese in.

A pleasant day

I had a dentist appointment today, and I took an awful picture of me with my mouth open and things sticking out of it, but I have not yet figured out how to get pictures from my cell phone to my computer, or I would show you. Or not – it is kind of embarrassing. After the dentist, Rebecca and I went for tea and crumpets. They put too much marmalade on mine, so I had to get another crumpet to use up the excess marmalade - very resourceful of me, I thought. Then we went to a cooking equipment store, and bought several gewgaws to enhance our cooking lives. I got a plastic onion to keep cellulose onions in and a new garlic press, as well as a very expensive pan in which I will fry tofu strips. Becca, who pointed out the plastic onions to me, later regretted not having gotten one for herself. I also got some posh “Happy Birthday” matches, but when I got home, happily picturing myself lighting the candles on the birthday cake, I realized that I do it in the privacy of the pantry and there would be no one there to admire them. Later, Rebecca made a fabulous dinner yet again. Unfortunately, Rachael was feeling ill, but she still managed to eat a bit. I managed to eat a lot. Here are the ingredients and the resulting gazpacho in Grandma Rossi’s TexasWare plates and bowls.

A frivolous day

Rebecca needed a new item of furniture – a sideboard for her CD player and various knickknacks, as well as a cupboard for more hidden matters, so we went to our current favorite furniture store to find her something. We had barely started examining their vast collection, when Rebecca said, “Lookit, Annie! The very chair for you!” I had to admit that it actually was the very chair for me, but my house is already overstuffed, to use chair terminology. I tried it out, and it was even comfortable. “There’s no place for it to go,” I objected. “Oh yes, there are lots of places,” she assured me. Well, I was fairly easily persuaded, but when we got it home, there really seemed to be no place for it to go. She was devastated, and offered to buy it from me, since she had convinced me that I needed it in the first place. I became determined to fit it in, but was foiled. Even Rebecca, the great squeezer in of one-more-thing, couldn’t figure out a good spot for it. All the spots she had imagined didn’t work for one reason or another. So we set it in the middle of the room and left to do some other thing. Later Rachael came home and said, “That chair sure is ugly. Why did you get it?” “Humpf,” was what I had to say. Later, I came downstairs, and she had put it in an excellent spot, and here it is. By the bye, Rebecca got a lovely Belgian sideboard with a marble top, and lots of mirrors and leaded glass. It will look great in her apartment.

A Proud Day

Our new choral season began with practice on Thursday, and Mass today. I am always so excited about meeting all my choir friends again after the summer, and making such glorious music. As expected, it was fabulous! We sang Mendelssohn’s “See What Love,” and Parry’s “I Was Glad” - this time, since all the choir members were there - with two choirs, one upstairs and one down. And my little Rachael was in the upstairs choir!!!!! She has been studying choral singing at the St. James Youth Music program since she was about eight, and now is quite the accomplished chorister. Naturally, she did very well, and I was so proud of her, and of myself for having a hand in producing such an infant phenomenon. Many folks thought she would be nervous (I was terrified when I first joined the choir) but she was pretty blasé about it all. As well she should be, having been singing at St. James for about eleven years.
After Mass, I finally did two long delayed tasks – I cleaned my refrigerator and organized my pantry. The refrigerator had some new life forms growing in it, and the pantry had artifacts from ancient days. There was a roll of polenta which I bought long ago, and frequently offered to cook for Rachael, but she was never interested. At just the right instant, Rebecca called from the nearby grocery store, and we decided that she should come help me eat up some of the odd food, including the polenta which I was planning to serve with some hermetically sealed tomato sauce in a paper-like box. She fixed chard with her special utterly delicious recipe, and I was in charge of our entrée. I was opening the box of tomato sauce when I noted that it said, “Best if used by December, 1999.” Hmmmm, a little out of date! I opened it and sniffed it, and while it didn’t smell icky, it also didn’t smell good. Rebecca quickly fixed some emergency tomato sauce from a can of tomatoes, a branch of basil, and a huge glob of garlic. She tried to mill it in my food mill, but the mill wouldn’t mill, so it was lumpy. Actually, I was happy because I prefer lumpy. All in all, it was a quick and very tasty dinner for a busy day.

Busy Bee Day

My friend Suzanne was going to come have lunch with me today, as was Rebecca, but Suzanne had an emergency and couldn’t come. I thought that was that, but Rebecca said we should have lunch anyway. So I fixed grissini which I had never made before, and barley soup which I have made often, and Rebecca made us a nice tomato and nectarine salad. The grissini were easy and fun. The cookbook said they would take about four hours, and that was pretty accurate. I mixed them up, let them flop around in the Kitchen Aide, then rise for an hour or so, and then I shaped them into sticks and cooked them. As you can see, they are rather cute, and were tasty.

A Serendipitous Day

What can these things have in common? Several years ago – well, quite a few actually, as the adorable little Rachael is now nineteen, so you can see how many…. Anyhow, shortly after getting the photos of her, I was going to show them to my breakfast guests, and I couldn’t find them. I looked high and low, and became a bit frantic, so the guests and I all prayed to St. Anthony to help me find the pictures. Rebecca has a special St. Anthony prayer book from which she read aloud prayer about lost objects. In part, the prayer said, “Fill me with disgust for the things of this world” (one of which I was desperately seeking), and somehow, this set me tittering uncontrollably. Everyone said that my disrespect and hilarity would not ingratiate me to St. Anthony and he might not find my pictures as a result! Well, I just couldn’t help it. I got up from the table, full of confidence, and sought the pictures again, but they still were not to be found. The next day, still no pictures, but I opened a drawer, and there was the pen which had come with my nice checkbook holder, a gift from my mother. This was the only pen which would fit into the holder, and I had been quite upset when I lost it at least five years previous. Later in the day, I was cleaning my room, and lifted a pillow, and there was the baby kangaroo, lost years before from his mother’s pouch. This too, had been a sad loss for me as what is a mother kangaroo without a baby in her pocket? I never ever expected to see him again. The next day, I opened a drawer, and there was the little ceramic knob from the top of my grandmother’s little apricot and blue teapot. It had broken off at least five years earlier, and I had put it in the proverbial “safe place” until I was ready to glue it back on. Immediately, it slipped into the mists, and many searches would not turn it up. But still no pictures. It seemed that St. Anthony was toying with me. At the end of the week, I could not believe all the long lost objects I had found and the pictures which I still had not found. I went to church to practice the organ for the upcoming Sunday, and the secretary said, “You left your pictures here, dear.” And there they were. All to prove that St Anthony has quite the sense of humor.
At about the same time, I was visiting my parents, and my saintly father was sitting on the porch praying his rosary. “You still have the same rosary you did when I was little,” I said. “No,” he answered sadly. “That was my grandmother’s and I lost it.”
I prayed to St. Anthony, and went off to find his rosary. I moved a dresser, and there under it was the lost rosary. (You have to understand that my mother was a house cleaner extraordinaire, and nothing was ever not cleaned under at least weekly.) I brought it back to my father, and he was thrilled. “How long has it been lost?” I asked, thinking it would be a few days. “At least fifteen years,” he answered. Wow! That Saint Anthony, in addition to having a sense of humor, is a true miracle worker. What brings all this up now? See the little pink and white pen? It is special because it writes a very fine line, fits in my work jacket pocket, and was expensive (sort of.) I lost it at work, and before I left I put out an APB. The next day, someone found another pink and white pen and left it for me but it was not the right one. I had given up on finding it, but prayed to St. A as a last resort, turned around, and there it was between the laptop and its wheeled cart. I had looked there several times to no avail the evening before. And since there are about twelve wheeled computers on our floor, even getting the same one was a bit of a stretch.
And why is there no picture of my father’s miraculous rosary? It is here somewhere, but I can’t find it.