This white bright blank screen shall remain largely so tonight. Going in the file is June Kirkpatrick's Sweet Potato Casserole, a Thanksgiving must. June was a school teacher in NC and every year she fixed a big dinner for her class, ham, green beans, sweet potato casserole. I ate it a couple of times and it's a very desirable combination. June canned her own green beans and boy, they were good, cooked to death in the Southern Tradition. Nice 'n salty, too, goes great with the sugar loaded sweet potatoes, sugar and salt complimenting each other so nicely. I always cut the amount of sugar called for to about half, I mean, let's get real, we are dealing with SWEET potatoes. I really don't know how Southerners survive. A 5 pound bag of white refined sugar goes in their homemade iced tea, I'm talking about one pitcher of tea. I've seen it with my own eyes. I'll tell you, nothing on the planet can be mistaken for a true Southerner. They are simply a marvelous breed.
Okay, I am not ready to play the piano for choir tomorrow. The scary thing is that I only partially care. I think I need a Sabbatical from all outside duties/obligations. I'm going to take it on the island of Bermuda. Wouldn't that just be so Heavenly??
I am tickled because I have happened to read a couple of book reviews lately on two separate books. Both authors were criticized for being flowery or La-La Land style of writing. Boy, I'm in trouble. Hope those critical women don't read my blog. Honestly, being a critic, what kind of profession is THAT? I love the idea that the need to criticize says more about the person doing the criticizing than they person they are criticizing. Gads, let's all make up our own minds. But I guess people like to read critiques or there wouldn't be so many critiquees (??).
Everyone, try to enjoy the pre-Thanksgiving prep. I hope I can do that. A mindset, right?
KEM
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Friday, November 20, 2009
The file calls for Hogsden's Sour Cream Corn Muffins. Got the recipe on the back of the corn meal bag once upon a time. Not sure I spelled Hogsden's correctly.
I am not finding the time to blog lately. But that will change as I am giving up one of my other activities before too long. Of course, I've already acquired a new activity in it's place. I'm helping a dear friend of our family. I announced to Mike tonight that we are going to buy a two-bedroom cottage with wood floors AND a garage apartment in the back because we need a place for our elderly lady friends to live when they need help, which this lady does. St. Petersburg is truly famous for garage apartments. My grandparents owned a nice Federal style apartment building, but in a residential setting near downtown. It was marvelous, had a view of the Vinoy hotel and everything, as in across the street. The apartment was called SunnySide. Of course, EVERY apartment building on that side of the street was called SunnySide. If they were on the north side of the street, they were on the sunny side. Block after block, there were the SunnySide apartments. Well, I confess to a little exaggeration here, but only a little.
The apartment had a front staircase and a back staircase. How much fun can kids have racing up one staircase, tearing down the long front-to-back hallway and crashing down the opposite staircase? A LOT. We used to spend the night at Granny and Grampa's. It was fun and scary. Granny would make up a bed for us in one of the vacant apartments. These were old-fashioned apartments in the strictest sense of the word. Granny did a great job maintaining and managing. I can still picture the little old kitchens as though I'm standing there right now. Granny's apartment was front-to-back and I have every square inch of it memorized. The kitchen sink where Grampa downed his 8 TALL glasses of water every morning. The cranberry juice in the glass bottles that Granny kept in the very old refrigerator. Cranberry juice tastes so much better in glass, instead of nasty old plastic. I remember once my friend who had 3 little kids and tons of toys said, I don't ever want to see another piece of plastic in my house as long as I live. I so GET that. Well, Granny also kept a respectable supply of peppermint patties in the fridge. This is no surprise, the lady who luncheoned on chocolate cake and dill pickles. Then there's the chair my grandfather sat and read his Bible, saying, Precious Jesus! There is the old gas stove where Granny made tapioca pudding and a lens from her eye glasses fell in, but she didn't know it. The front room was Granny's office. We used to love to study her ledgers. They were completely illegible. It was a mystery.
The bedroom looked out at the garage, where 2 tiny apartments were situated. I think once when there was a dog in the family, he had to stay in the garage apartment. With supervision. Well, as a kid I was fascinated by two of Granny's tenants. Alice and Modess. How's that for a name? Modess? Surely it was spelled Modesse. Well, Alice and Modesse were best friends from Maine and they were retired school teachers who wintered in one of the garage apartments. They were both ample women. In fact, one of them was ample in the extreme. The apartment was as tiny as imaginable. It was like a doll house, barely room to turn around in the living room, the bedroom was microscopic and the kitchen, well, two thin women wouldn't be able to squeeze past each other. It was a vivid and ongoing conversation to know how Alice and Modesse managed in this tiny apartment, WITH NO AIR CONDITIONING. They were always so pleasant. We visited them frequently and they would just smile while tiny beads of sweat. . . pardon me . . . perspiration, lined up on their forehead, row upon neat row. Their faces would be beet red and they would rock a Chinese fan back and forth, slowly and steadily. Honestly, these two women could have come straight off of Aunt Bea's front porch. In Michigan we knew two sisters who lived together named Billy and Chloe. There is something about the old days that we are really missing out on in modern times. Everyone seemed to manage their cares easily. Maybe the cares were less, maybe the character was more.
In front of the apartment house were two decorative little palm trees flanking either side of the walkway. The trunks were spiky, a point, ha, of great interest to children. One day the yard man was trimming those palm trees. He got a little scissors happy and basically cut off most of the fronds. Then he went on to do some other damage to the yard, I presume. But my grandfather came home and saw his nude trees and pitched a fit, WHAT?!?! WHAT IDIOT WOULD DO THIS?? OH, MY POOR LITTLE PALM TREES. IDIOT!! IDIOT!! WHO DID THIS?? So the little yard man stepped up and said, I done it, Sir. Grampa's furious tornado face instantly gave way to Mr. Mellow, his big smile taking center stage. Oh, how do you do?, such a lovely job on the palm trees, just beautiful. I can see him nodding his approval and pleasure. I've always wondered what the little yard man was thinking.
Oh, and once a lady came to look at one of the apartments upstairs. Grampa was home alone and BEGGED the woman not to go up. She must have not looked up to the challenge of climbing the steep staircase. Grampa panicked and called his daughter, I can hear the desperation, OH, COME QUICKLY, COME QUICKLY, OH, SHE'S GOING TO GO UP THE STAIRS, IT'S GOING TO BE A DISASTER. I'M BEGGING HER NOT TO DO IT, OH HELP! With that he hung up the phone. Seconds later he called his daughter back, Never mind, it's too late.
Well, I will save the Shepherds story for another time, it's a classic. Suffice it to say, there was never a dull moment at SunnySide. Oh, as kids we loved to visit the lady with the parakeets. My memory for these stories isn't as good as everyone's, I need to do some research, get the gory details.
Another reason I am having trouble blogging is that of late I am stuffing my face with white bread tuna sandwiches. This has a very deadening effect on the brain. Tonight when I took the little lady to Wal Mart (get me off the planet), there was Arnold's Soft, Classic White Family Bread, right there snuggled in with all the other white loaves. It proved coyly irresistable, struck me as the kind of bread Larry Mondello's mother would make his sandwiches with. Not to mention a trip to Wal Mart leaves me with all the gumption to offer sandwiches for dinner, nothing more, nothing less.
In the morning Mike is going to UF game. This will leave me to stir up some egg salad for egg salad sandwiches on white bread. YUM!
Happy owner of a new cream FiestaWare platter with a lip, for a piddly $3.84,
KEM
I am not finding the time to blog lately. But that will change as I am giving up one of my other activities before too long. Of course, I've already acquired a new activity in it's place. I'm helping a dear friend of our family. I announced to Mike tonight that we are going to buy a two-bedroom cottage with wood floors AND a garage apartment in the back because we need a place for our elderly lady friends to live when they need help, which this lady does. St. Petersburg is truly famous for garage apartments. My grandparents owned a nice Federal style apartment building, but in a residential setting near downtown. It was marvelous, had a view of the Vinoy hotel and everything, as in across the street. The apartment was called SunnySide. Of course, EVERY apartment building on that side of the street was called SunnySide. If they were on the north side of the street, they were on the sunny side. Block after block, there were the SunnySide apartments. Well, I confess to a little exaggeration here, but only a little.
The apartment had a front staircase and a back staircase. How much fun can kids have racing up one staircase, tearing down the long front-to-back hallway and crashing down the opposite staircase? A LOT. We used to spend the night at Granny and Grampa's. It was fun and scary. Granny would make up a bed for us in one of the vacant apartments. These were old-fashioned apartments in the strictest sense of the word. Granny did a great job maintaining and managing. I can still picture the little old kitchens as though I'm standing there right now. Granny's apartment was front-to-back and I have every square inch of it memorized. The kitchen sink where Grampa downed his 8 TALL glasses of water every morning. The cranberry juice in the glass bottles that Granny kept in the very old refrigerator. Cranberry juice tastes so much better in glass, instead of nasty old plastic. I remember once my friend who had 3 little kids and tons of toys said, I don't ever want to see another piece of plastic in my house as long as I live. I so GET that. Well, Granny also kept a respectable supply of peppermint patties in the fridge. This is no surprise, the lady who luncheoned on chocolate cake and dill pickles. Then there's the chair my grandfather sat and read his Bible, saying, Precious Jesus! There is the old gas stove where Granny made tapioca pudding and a lens from her eye glasses fell in, but she didn't know it. The front room was Granny's office. We used to love to study her ledgers. They were completely illegible. It was a mystery.
The bedroom looked out at the garage, where 2 tiny apartments were situated. I think once when there was a dog in the family, he had to stay in the garage apartment. With supervision. Well, as a kid I was fascinated by two of Granny's tenants. Alice and Modess. How's that for a name? Modess? Surely it was spelled Modesse. Well, Alice and Modesse were best friends from Maine and they were retired school teachers who wintered in one of the garage apartments. They were both ample women. In fact, one of them was ample in the extreme. The apartment was as tiny as imaginable. It was like a doll house, barely room to turn around in the living room, the bedroom was microscopic and the kitchen, well, two thin women wouldn't be able to squeeze past each other. It was a vivid and ongoing conversation to know how Alice and Modesse managed in this tiny apartment, WITH NO AIR CONDITIONING. They were always so pleasant. We visited them frequently and they would just smile while tiny beads of sweat. . . pardon me . . . perspiration, lined up on their forehead, row upon neat row. Their faces would be beet red and they would rock a Chinese fan back and forth, slowly and steadily. Honestly, these two women could have come straight off of Aunt Bea's front porch. In Michigan we knew two sisters who lived together named Billy and Chloe. There is something about the old days that we are really missing out on in modern times. Everyone seemed to manage their cares easily. Maybe the cares were less, maybe the character was more.
In front of the apartment house were two decorative little palm trees flanking either side of the walkway. The trunks were spiky, a point, ha, of great interest to children. One day the yard man was trimming those palm trees. He got a little scissors happy and basically cut off most of the fronds. Then he went on to do some other damage to the yard, I presume. But my grandfather came home and saw his nude trees and pitched a fit, WHAT?!?! WHAT IDIOT WOULD DO THIS?? OH, MY POOR LITTLE PALM TREES. IDIOT!! IDIOT!! WHO DID THIS?? So the little yard man stepped up and said, I done it, Sir. Grampa's furious tornado face instantly gave way to Mr. Mellow, his big smile taking center stage. Oh, how do you do?, such a lovely job on the palm trees, just beautiful. I can see him nodding his approval and pleasure. I've always wondered what the little yard man was thinking.
Oh, and once a lady came to look at one of the apartments upstairs. Grampa was home alone and BEGGED the woman not to go up. She must have not looked up to the challenge of climbing the steep staircase. Grampa panicked and called his daughter, I can hear the desperation, OH, COME QUICKLY, COME QUICKLY, OH, SHE'S GOING TO GO UP THE STAIRS, IT'S GOING TO BE A DISASTER. I'M BEGGING HER NOT TO DO IT, OH HELP! With that he hung up the phone. Seconds later he called his daughter back, Never mind, it's too late.
Well, I will save the Shepherds story for another time, it's a classic. Suffice it to say, there was never a dull moment at SunnySide. Oh, as kids we loved to visit the lady with the parakeets. My memory for these stories isn't as good as everyone's, I need to do some research, get the gory details.
Another reason I am having trouble blogging is that of late I am stuffing my face with white bread tuna sandwiches. This has a very deadening effect on the brain. Tonight when I took the little lady to Wal Mart (get me off the planet), there was Arnold's Soft, Classic White Family Bread, right there snuggled in with all the other white loaves. It proved coyly irresistable, struck me as the kind of bread Larry Mondello's mother would make his sandwiches with. Not to mention a trip to Wal Mart leaves me with all the gumption to offer sandwiches for dinner, nothing more, nothing less.
In the morning Mike is going to UF game. This will leave me to stir up some egg salad for egg salad sandwiches on white bread. YUM!
Happy owner of a new cream FiestaWare platter with a lip, for a piddly $3.84,
KEM
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Goza's Peppered Roast going in the file tonight. It's from Southern Sideboards cookbook. Isn't it funny how we, if you're anything like I am, have one or two recipes we use from each of 40 cookbooks. I don't understand that phenomenon. Seems like I thumb through and recipes don't jump out and grab me by the ears and shake me. Or if they do, I POSTPONE trying them . . . forever. Isn't postpone such a more flattering word than PROCRASTINATE?
Well, Goza's Peppered Roast is fabulous. I haven't made it in centuries because I can't find an organic roast. But like I said, that new organic market promising hunks of meat will be opening soon. Goza's recipe will be ready and waiting. Once DTD'S best friend had the roast at my house. She is very picky eater and went home and told her mother to get the recipe. I was very pleased.
I think omelett should be served for dinner once a week, don't you?
In the mood to throw out old, stale, dangerous, poisonous food. This always happens before Thanksgiving.
KEM
Well, Goza's Peppered Roast is fabulous. I haven't made it in centuries because I can't find an organic roast. But like I said, that new organic market promising hunks of meat will be opening soon. Goza's recipe will be ready and waiting. Once DTD'S best friend had the roast at my house. She is very picky eater and went home and told her mother to get the recipe. I was very pleased.
I think omelett should be served for dinner once a week, don't you?
In the mood to throw out old, stale, dangerous, poisonous food. This always happens before Thanksgiving.
KEM
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Two weeks of sinus infection has done me in. I just have to go to bed. On November 30th I am trying a sinus specialist who moved here from the Cleveland Institute. Opera singers from New York and stuff come to him. Doesn't this sound promising? Really, something has got to change here or I might curl into a little ball in my bed under the covers and simply, in due time, expire. I am not exaggerating.
I do have things to blog about, but they will have to wait. They're all listed, ha, messily on messy scraps of papers all over the messy desk and on the pages of sundry Sports Illustrated magazines, because Mike keeps those in the bathroom upstairs, which is exactly where little gold nuggets pop into my head that must be scratched down on paper or lost forever. I need to arrange a funeral service for all of my ideas all ready lost forever. It's just awful.
In New System is going Mexican Fruitcake. Hands down the easiest and best cake recipe you could ever hope to have in your repertoire. The kind of cake that you eat the whole pan right then and there. I got the recipe from Ollie Dahl. That should tell you something. Ollie was a friend in the DAR chapter in NC. She was teased as being Ollie Doll. She was a little microscopic doll of a lady, to be sure. I loved to go sit in her big old house and visit on fall afternoons. She and her house were so gracious. Back in the day, I was the "baby" of the chapter, at least the one and only junior member for the longest time. This made me a celebrity of sorts, based on age alone. I enjoyed it. All those ladies were like grandmothers to me. Somehow, I get along best with three and four year olds and post-80 year olds. I do not fit in with my peers, isn't that strange? Never have. What I mean is, ON THE WHOLE I don't fit in with my peers, but have always had a few priceless friends in my age bracket. Teens, however, I cannot relate to at all. I couldn't even relate to myself when I was a teenager. So, I just steer clear. When you are out of your teens, please give me a call.
Okay, one day I will tell you some more about the lovely and charming DAR ladies from Battle of Alamance Chapter, Burlington, NC. They sprinkled refinement into my life, and I aspired to be such a lady as they. I have not attained, yet I aspire still . . . when I think about it . . . which I am afraid is not often enough.
Why do I have so many cake recipes in my new system? Because Aunt Bee served cake. Also, I read where a layer cake standing on the kitchen counter adds an instant homey quality to your house.
Today I helped my friend pick out a wedding gift for a splinter group (splintered in 1925) of the Mennonites. She is lucky enough to live a few blocks from this group which lives in an old inn on the bay. I'm telling you, it's the ultimate. When I walk on the property I somehow feel instantly removed from the anxiety of modern living. A peace envelops me like a mist, it cradles me. Anyhow, the million dollar question is what do you get the happy young couple when Mennonites don't believe in extraneous worldly possessions? You skip all else in the store and get them a winter white quilted bedspread and shams, that's what.
Tonight at Mike's singing class he showed the Number 5 short cartoon of all time, followed by the Number 1. They both completely revolved around singing and were perfectly hilarious. One Froggy Night is about the cocky singing frog, who was discovered in a cornerstone of a demolished building and would perform only for his greedy new owner but turn into a limp rag frog on stage, essentially, the second he was placed in front of any other human being at all. His specialty for Mr. Greed was Hello, Ma Baby! He dances like a Rockette doing that. His name is Michigan J. Frog, why am I not surprised? This cartoon was based on a "true" story about a frog from Texas who survived in a cornerstone for 31 years.
But the Number 1 cartoon was What's Opera, Doc? and stars Elmew Fudd (Mike cowwected me aftew I owiginally wote Elmew Thedd) and Bugs Bunny. SERIOUSLY FUNNY. The whole thing is a pawody on Wagnew opewas. Elmew wants to kiww the wabbit so Bugs Bunny disguises himself as a pwincess. They go a wooing, singing awias and what have you back and fowth to each othew. It wowks until duwing a lavish embwace in Elmew's awms, Bugs' hat dwops off and the wabbit eaws give him away. I won't spoil the ending, you have to see it fow yowself. Othew than to say Elmew uses his magic helmet to bwing evewything down on the wabbit, like huwwicanes and townadoes and eawthquakes, even SMOG. Mike's singing classes think he did nothing his whole youth except watch TV. But this is how Mike had eawly exposuwe to all these wondewful songs, thwough the cawtoons. He fell in wove wif them.
Spellcheck did not appweciate the above pawagwaph. I hope you do.
Cawamelized Pineapple,
KEM
I do have things to blog about, but they will have to wait. They're all listed, ha, messily on messy scraps of papers all over the messy desk and on the pages of sundry Sports Illustrated magazines, because Mike keeps those in the bathroom upstairs, which is exactly where little gold nuggets pop into my head that must be scratched down on paper or lost forever. I need to arrange a funeral service for all of my ideas all ready lost forever. It's just awful.
In New System is going Mexican Fruitcake. Hands down the easiest and best cake recipe you could ever hope to have in your repertoire. The kind of cake that you eat the whole pan right then and there. I got the recipe from Ollie Dahl. That should tell you something. Ollie was a friend in the DAR chapter in NC. She was teased as being Ollie Doll. She was a little microscopic doll of a lady, to be sure. I loved to go sit in her big old house and visit on fall afternoons. She and her house were so gracious. Back in the day, I was the "baby" of the chapter, at least the one and only junior member for the longest time. This made me a celebrity of sorts, based on age alone. I enjoyed it. All those ladies were like grandmothers to me. Somehow, I get along best with three and four year olds and post-80 year olds. I do not fit in with my peers, isn't that strange? Never have. What I mean is, ON THE WHOLE I don't fit in with my peers, but have always had a few priceless friends in my age bracket. Teens, however, I cannot relate to at all. I couldn't even relate to myself when I was a teenager. So, I just steer clear. When you are out of your teens, please give me a call.
Okay, one day I will tell you some more about the lovely and charming DAR ladies from Battle of Alamance Chapter, Burlington, NC. They sprinkled refinement into my life, and I aspired to be such a lady as they. I have not attained, yet I aspire still . . . when I think about it . . . which I am afraid is not often enough.
Why do I have so many cake recipes in my new system? Because Aunt Bee served cake. Also, I read where a layer cake standing on the kitchen counter adds an instant homey quality to your house.
Today I helped my friend pick out a wedding gift for a splinter group (splintered in 1925) of the Mennonites. She is lucky enough to live a few blocks from this group which lives in an old inn on the bay. I'm telling you, it's the ultimate. When I walk on the property I somehow feel instantly removed from the anxiety of modern living. A peace envelops me like a mist, it cradles me. Anyhow, the million dollar question is what do you get the happy young couple when Mennonites don't believe in extraneous worldly possessions? You skip all else in the store and get them a winter white quilted bedspread and shams, that's what.
Tonight at Mike's singing class he showed the Number 5 short cartoon of all time, followed by the Number 1. They both completely revolved around singing and were perfectly hilarious. One Froggy Night is about the cocky singing frog, who was discovered in a cornerstone of a demolished building and would perform only for his greedy new owner but turn into a limp rag frog on stage, essentially, the second he was placed in front of any other human being at all. His specialty for Mr. Greed was Hello, Ma Baby! He dances like a Rockette doing that. His name is Michigan J. Frog, why am I not surprised? This cartoon was based on a "true" story about a frog from Texas who survived in a cornerstone for 31 years.
But the Number 1 cartoon was What's Opera, Doc? and stars Elmew Fudd (Mike cowwected me aftew I owiginally wote Elmew Thedd) and Bugs Bunny. SERIOUSLY FUNNY. The whole thing is a pawody on Wagnew opewas. Elmew wants to kiww the wabbit so Bugs Bunny disguises himself as a pwincess. They go a wooing, singing awias and what have you back and fowth to each othew. It wowks until duwing a lavish embwace in Elmew's awms, Bugs' hat dwops off and the wabbit eaws give him away. I won't spoil the ending, you have to see it fow yowself. Othew than to say Elmew uses his magic helmet to bwing evewything down on the wabbit, like huwwicanes and townadoes and eawthquakes, even SMOG. Mike's singing classes think he did nothing his whole youth except watch TV. But this is how Mike had eawly exposuwe to all these wondewful songs, thwough the cawtoons. He fell in wove wif them.
Spellcheck did not appweciate the above pawagwaph. I hope you do.
Cawamelized Pineapple,
KEM
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Me no write blog tonight. Beef 'n Mac leftovers taste better every day. After 3 nights in a row, it is gone, unfortunately. Go organic. FINALLY, St. Petersburg is getting an organic market that will have MEAT. Not just hamburger and chicken and bacon, that I can get all ready, but hunks of BEEF, to make a roast. Remember the olden days when Sunday lunch was the dinner of the week and a gorgeous roast usually took centerstage?
In the recipe book went Valerie's Easy-Does-It Chocolate Cake. My idea of the perfect homemade chocolate cake. Perfect, I tell you. And E-A-S-Y, like it says.
Topped off with beef 'n mac,
KEM
In the recipe book went Valerie's Easy-Does-It Chocolate Cake. My idea of the perfect homemade chocolate cake. Perfect, I tell you. And E-A-S-Y, like it says.
Topped off with beef 'n mac,
KEM
Monday, November 16, 2009
Tonight I went back to Target because I thought I was overcharged for a frozen dinner, by $.20. Times 2. I was not, I must be remembering prices from months ago. I also thought I was overcharged for a pitcher type water purifier by $13.00. I was not. What happened there was the price on the shelf did not match with the product, someone stuck the pitcher in the wrong place, and I didn't look closely because the store was closing and I had to get outta there with my white bread and ham.
So, there I was in Target for absolutely NOTHING. I looked at this, I looked at that, and I talked myself out of everything. Good for me. Actually, I was too tired to be productive, just wandering in a missioned daze, for lack of a better term. I thought I had a mission, but it was executed very poorly. I mean, I did look at stuff I wanted to, the best I could, but nothing appealed, nothing registered. That ever happen to you? Listlessly walked by picture frames and alarm clocks. Couldn't summon the strength to care. I checked out these little sleeping pills and asked the pharamcist what was the dif from one kind to the next? He said, Just go buy the store brand of Benadryl for a buck, it's the same ingredient as in the sleeping pills. Okay, so I tried but couldn't track. Left pills to go look at a ballon shade to cover that dumb French door to nowhere in the bedroom, but I didn't know if 63" length would cut it. I had curtains, but DTD swiped them. Then I looked at these hangars I like, they are covered with velveteen or something and the shoulders slope so as to be kindly on clothes and not all nasty pokey so that when you wear a shirt you look like you have a disturbance on your shoulder. Well, the only color they had was off-white. Forget that, I want dark blue and dark green to disguise the dust. Then I went to look at sweaters on sale, I'm such a sweater girl, but I remembered from sad past experience that this knit really balls up. Can't have that. Pass.
Near the end I was examing $6 long-sleeved t-shirts stitch by stitch. I must have stood there close to 15 minutes, checking out all the colors, seeing if there might me one that met my specifications of even seams and all that. I was getting very frustrated and wished I'd never come and that I was home watching Andy Griffith instead. Along about this stage of this futile exercise, a woman expertly parked her cart at this same t-shirt display and threw in a shirt. I forget what color. What dif does it make, 'cause then she threw in another color and another, with not the slightest hint of inspection. She just dove to the bottom of the pile for her size and grabbed whichever one her hand hit first. Just when I thought, WOW, isn't this something!, she discovered more colors on the other side of the stand and gingerly tossed in one more. Nothin' to it. Pure efficiency.
So there I was, 0 shirts and 15 minutes lost forever, and there this lady was, 4 shirts in 30 seconds and on her merry way getting the job done. Honestly, didn't God make us all our own little person? I moved away from t-shirts and grudgingly looked at pj's on sale and warm sweat pants. Hopeless. I just wasn't up to it. Out the door empty-handed. Won't be going back to Target for about a month. GOOD!
The moral of this story, I goofed going to Target, but I forgive myself.
Cherry cupcakes going into my new system tonight. There, that's the happiest thing about this whole day.
Do not hire me to be your personal shopper,
KEM
So, there I was in Target for absolutely NOTHING. I looked at this, I looked at that, and I talked myself out of everything. Good for me. Actually, I was too tired to be productive, just wandering in a missioned daze, for lack of a better term. I thought I had a mission, but it was executed very poorly. I mean, I did look at stuff I wanted to, the best I could, but nothing appealed, nothing registered. That ever happen to you? Listlessly walked by picture frames and alarm clocks. Couldn't summon the strength to care. I checked out these little sleeping pills and asked the pharamcist what was the dif from one kind to the next? He said, Just go buy the store brand of Benadryl for a buck, it's the same ingredient as in the sleeping pills. Okay, so I tried but couldn't track. Left pills to go look at a ballon shade to cover that dumb French door to nowhere in the bedroom, but I didn't know if 63" length would cut it. I had curtains, but DTD swiped them. Then I looked at these hangars I like, they are covered with velveteen or something and the shoulders slope so as to be kindly on clothes and not all nasty pokey so that when you wear a shirt you look like you have a disturbance on your shoulder. Well, the only color they had was off-white. Forget that, I want dark blue and dark green to disguise the dust. Then I went to look at sweaters on sale, I'm such a sweater girl, but I remembered from sad past experience that this knit really balls up. Can't have that. Pass.
Near the end I was examing $6 long-sleeved t-shirts stitch by stitch. I must have stood there close to 15 minutes, checking out all the colors, seeing if there might me one that met my specifications of even seams and all that. I was getting very frustrated and wished I'd never come and that I was home watching Andy Griffith instead. Along about this stage of this futile exercise, a woman expertly parked her cart at this same t-shirt display and threw in a shirt. I forget what color. What dif does it make, 'cause then she threw in another color and another, with not the slightest hint of inspection. She just dove to the bottom of the pile for her size and grabbed whichever one her hand hit first. Just when I thought, WOW, isn't this something!, she discovered more colors on the other side of the stand and gingerly tossed in one more. Nothin' to it. Pure efficiency.
So there I was, 0 shirts and 15 minutes lost forever, and there this lady was, 4 shirts in 30 seconds and on her merry way getting the job done. Honestly, didn't God make us all our own little person? I moved away from t-shirts and grudgingly looked at pj's on sale and warm sweat pants. Hopeless. I just wasn't up to it. Out the door empty-handed. Won't be going back to Target for about a month. GOOD!
The moral of this story, I goofed going to Target, but I forgive myself.
Cherry cupcakes going into my new system tonight. There, that's the happiest thing about this whole day.
Do not hire me to be your personal shopper,
KEM
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Incidentally, when I came home from Target last night I was putting stuff away in the bathroom and glanced in the mirror. There was a big chunk of charred marshmallow stuck to the corner of my mouth. BRAVO!
I am on yet another new mission. Target's end caps are really my downfall. I checked the stationery section and there was a Mead notebook set, a 5 divider notebook AND a personal notebook, all wrapped in lovely, enticing cellophane, just one left, begging me to take it home, like a puppy at the pet store. They had nice cushy covers over the wire binder and durable plastic covers for the rest. I immediately scavenged my brain for a suitable use. It took no time to decide that this big notebook would become the salvation for my hopelessly disorganized recipe collection. Here's how it will work. Every day I MUST make a recipe. I shall begin with the tried and true. Once we eat it and confirm that it is, indeed, a winner, the recipe will immediately be transferred to the new notebook. I shall take my sticky roller, Removable Dot 'N Go Glue Dots, if you must, and pin the recipe to a page. Of course, with 5 divisions, this shall be a snap to get organized. And, BINGO!, everything will be contained in one yummy Mead notebook, easy as pie. The personal book, I don't know, I need to jot all my writing ideas in one comfortable spot. Presently, they are written on millions of pieces of paper littering the desk. Consolidation, this is the plan.
Yesterday Mike went to the health food store and he brought me back something made by a little company called Blake's. I think they are in New England, where people work hard. They make their recipes in small batches, by hand, old family recipes. I'm telling you, their stuff is SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD! This frozen entree was a new one to me, Mac 'N Beef. I baked it up in the oven and boy, oh, boy was it GOOOOOOOOOOD!
Of course, I could have eaten 4 containers of it, the portions are suitable for someone on a fast, it's like eating nothing. But one can't afford to eat 4 containers, the stuff ain't cheap. Previously, I've had their chicken pot pie, which is chicken in a brothy sauce to die for, and crust. No vegetables in sight, The Little Rabbit that would not Eat would make a beeline for that one. The other was Shepherd's Pie, again, just mashed potatoes and ground beef.
Well, the mac 'n beef was so perfect that I decided to read the ingredients. Just good old-fashioned real food like crushed tomatoes and green pepper. Isn't that just so refreshing? So, I thought I could duplicate that and I did and it was pretty close. If I had simmered the tomato sauce longer, reduced it, I think it would have been just right, and maybe thrown in some brown sugar, eh? This, my friends, shall be the first recipe in my new system. It's good old family cooking, the only kind I'm interested in. And it was fun to make because I "eyeballed" it, that's how the Amish cook, you know.
Just think, if I cook something every day, like that Julie in the Julia Child's story, and like myself, the blogger, who more or less blogs every day, I shall have a Notebook of Best Loved Recipes by next Thanksgiving. It's a good thing I heard a big time chef say that the home cook tries too many different kinds of recipes and she should rather master a few. My sentiments exactly. I'm telling you, I have favorite recipes and they could be in any of a multitude of places. I can never put my finger on most of them. Like the Sally Lunn bread from my boarding school. That was only served on special occasions, like Armistice Day. We'd eat scrambled egg sandwiches (on cheap white bread) with ketchup down at the point of the lake. Then we'd have this melt-in-your mouth Sally Lunn bread. It was really more like cake/muffin and we ate it with apple butter. You never tasted anything so good in your life. Miss Andy was responsible for this recipe, or Miss Clement, they no doubt put their two lovely heads together and tweaked it over the years. So, after decades of drooling to savor Sally Lunn once again, someone graciously provided the recipe at a reunion. Yep, I have the recipe, but where on earth is it?
It could be in my stuffed-to-the-gills recipe box. Or it could be in a long forgotten file in the laundry room. Maybe it is in my notebook with plastic sleeves in the buffet. Or it could be in the drawer in the little side table serving as night stand in the guest room. Perhaps it's upstairs in any number of random files, boxes and baskets. For all I know it got mixed in with the ample Taste sections from the newspaper, the piles yellowing and crisping. Wow, I'd better quit this train of thought, I'm going to become utterly defeated before I even glue dot my first entry. Actually, I have a similar recipe for beef 'n mac, courtesy of Ruby Tester. Boy, could she cook. They had a huge home garden and she canned and all that. Now, these two similar recipes need to go on the same page, wouldn't you say?
So, unearthing my favorites is going to be interesting. Everything is interesting to me, just about, this is my problem. Lots of the newspaper stories are so interesting. So is AOL. And email, of course. What is not interesting to me are modern movies and television. BIG YAWN, by and large. This takes so much time, to be genuinely interested in almost everything. But when I find Sally Lunn (a lot like Linn, eh?, if I'm spelling it correctly), she is going to go in the pan.
Yesterday for the bonfire I made chocolate chip cookies. But they never made it out the door. I said to Mike, These cookies are greasy, see-thru, crumbly, and if that's not enough they're sketchy on the choco chip equation, maybe I shouldn't take them. He said, No, you shouldn't take them. Then he revealed, Those cookies are good. AHA! So, my mastermind puts together that he had snitched a cookie and didn't want me to take them because he wanted them all for himself at home. So we took a bag of chips instead. But at least they were lime cilantro chips.
My cookies were greasy because I made them with substitute ingredients. No egg. Handy I had just read on AOL a few days ago that if you don't have an egg, grind up some flax seed and add some water, let it sit for a few, PRESTO!, you have flax-egg, same consistency and everything as egg-egg. How about me having flax seed sitting around forever? Then my brown sugar was petrified, so I had to sub cane sugar. Then my chocolate chip supply, I found, had been drastically diminished, by DTD, I suspect. PLUS, I was cutting the recipe in half and whenever I do that it's highly questionable which ingredients were cut in half in the real world and which were cut in half in good intentions only. Using two sticks of butter in half a recipe would be fatal. I don't think I did that, but then again, these WERE extra greasy. I'm getting queasy just studying the matter.
Okay, all my heady ideas are exhausating (see, I can't spell, I spelled that like nauseating, almost, which I'm also getting nauseated from the Calcium and Vitamin D tablets I picked up on the pills end cap at Target, I just took them, they aren't agreeable), not to mention cooking on a HARD TILE FLOOR exhausts me. I'm telling you what, we have to move to that little cottage with soft, forgiving wood floors. But I am excited to get my recipes together. Isn't the human spirit just indomitable? Never mind my life is well on it's way to over, I'm going to turn into June Cleaver if it's the last thing I do, even if it kills me.
Looking ahead, not back,
KEM
I am on yet another new mission. Target's end caps are really my downfall. I checked the stationery section and there was a Mead notebook set, a 5 divider notebook AND a personal notebook, all wrapped in lovely, enticing cellophane, just one left, begging me to take it home, like a puppy at the pet store. They had nice cushy covers over the wire binder and durable plastic covers for the rest. I immediately scavenged my brain for a suitable use. It took no time to decide that this big notebook would become the salvation for my hopelessly disorganized recipe collection. Here's how it will work. Every day I MUST make a recipe. I shall begin with the tried and true. Once we eat it and confirm that it is, indeed, a winner, the recipe will immediately be transferred to the new notebook. I shall take my sticky roller, Removable Dot 'N Go Glue Dots, if you must, and pin the recipe to a page. Of course, with 5 divisions, this shall be a snap to get organized. And, BINGO!, everything will be contained in one yummy Mead notebook, easy as pie. The personal book, I don't know, I need to jot all my writing ideas in one comfortable spot. Presently, they are written on millions of pieces of paper littering the desk. Consolidation, this is the plan.
Yesterday Mike went to the health food store and he brought me back something made by a little company called Blake's. I think they are in New England, where people work hard. They make their recipes in small batches, by hand, old family recipes. I'm telling you, their stuff is SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD! This frozen entree was a new one to me, Mac 'N Beef. I baked it up in the oven and boy, oh, boy was it GOOOOOOOOOOD!
Of course, I could have eaten 4 containers of it, the portions are suitable for someone on a fast, it's like eating nothing. But one can't afford to eat 4 containers, the stuff ain't cheap. Previously, I've had their chicken pot pie, which is chicken in a brothy sauce to die for, and crust. No vegetables in sight, The Little Rabbit that would not Eat would make a beeline for that one. The other was Shepherd's Pie, again, just mashed potatoes and ground beef.
Well, the mac 'n beef was so perfect that I decided to read the ingredients. Just good old-fashioned real food like crushed tomatoes and green pepper. Isn't that just so refreshing? So, I thought I could duplicate that and I did and it was pretty close. If I had simmered the tomato sauce longer, reduced it, I think it would have been just right, and maybe thrown in some brown sugar, eh? This, my friends, shall be the first recipe in my new system. It's good old family cooking, the only kind I'm interested in. And it was fun to make because I "eyeballed" it, that's how the Amish cook, you know.
Just think, if I cook something every day, like that Julie in the Julia Child's story, and like myself, the blogger, who more or less blogs every day, I shall have a Notebook of Best Loved Recipes by next Thanksgiving. It's a good thing I heard a big time chef say that the home cook tries too many different kinds of recipes and she should rather master a few. My sentiments exactly. I'm telling you, I have favorite recipes and they could be in any of a multitude of places. I can never put my finger on most of them. Like the Sally Lunn bread from my boarding school. That was only served on special occasions, like Armistice Day. We'd eat scrambled egg sandwiches (on cheap white bread) with ketchup down at the point of the lake. Then we'd have this melt-in-your mouth Sally Lunn bread. It was really more like cake/muffin and we ate it with apple butter. You never tasted anything so good in your life. Miss Andy was responsible for this recipe, or Miss Clement, they no doubt put their two lovely heads together and tweaked it over the years. So, after decades of drooling to savor Sally Lunn once again, someone graciously provided the recipe at a reunion. Yep, I have the recipe, but where on earth is it?
It could be in my stuffed-to-the-gills recipe box. Or it could be in a long forgotten file in the laundry room. Maybe it is in my notebook with plastic sleeves in the buffet. Or it could be in the drawer in the little side table serving as night stand in the guest room. Perhaps it's upstairs in any number of random files, boxes and baskets. For all I know it got mixed in with the ample Taste sections from the newspaper, the piles yellowing and crisping. Wow, I'd better quit this train of thought, I'm going to become utterly defeated before I even glue dot my first entry. Actually, I have a similar recipe for beef 'n mac, courtesy of Ruby Tester. Boy, could she cook. They had a huge home garden and she canned and all that. Now, these two similar recipes need to go on the same page, wouldn't you say?
So, unearthing my favorites is going to be interesting. Everything is interesting to me, just about, this is my problem. Lots of the newspaper stories are so interesting. So is AOL. And email, of course. What is not interesting to me are modern movies and television. BIG YAWN, by and large. This takes so much time, to be genuinely interested in almost everything. But when I find Sally Lunn (a lot like Linn, eh?, if I'm spelling it correctly), she is going to go in the pan.
Yesterday for the bonfire I made chocolate chip cookies. But they never made it out the door. I said to Mike, These cookies are greasy, see-thru, crumbly, and if that's not enough they're sketchy on the choco chip equation, maybe I shouldn't take them. He said, No, you shouldn't take them. Then he revealed, Those cookies are good. AHA! So, my mastermind puts together that he had snitched a cookie and didn't want me to take them because he wanted them all for himself at home. So we took a bag of chips instead. But at least they were lime cilantro chips.
My cookies were greasy because I made them with substitute ingredients. No egg. Handy I had just read on AOL a few days ago that if you don't have an egg, grind up some flax seed and add some water, let it sit for a few, PRESTO!, you have flax-egg, same consistency and everything as egg-egg. How about me having flax seed sitting around forever? Then my brown sugar was petrified, so I had to sub cane sugar. Then my chocolate chip supply, I found, had been drastically diminished, by DTD, I suspect. PLUS, I was cutting the recipe in half and whenever I do that it's highly questionable which ingredients were cut in half in the real world and which were cut in half in good intentions only. Using two sticks of butter in half a recipe would be fatal. I don't think I did that, but then again, these WERE extra greasy. I'm getting queasy just studying the matter.
Okay, all my heady ideas are exhausating (see, I can't spell, I spelled that like nauseating, almost, which I'm also getting nauseated from the Calcium and Vitamin D tablets I picked up on the pills end cap at Target, I just took them, they aren't agreeable), not to mention cooking on a HARD TILE FLOOR exhausts me. I'm telling you what, we have to move to that little cottage with soft, forgiving wood floors. But I am excited to get my recipes together. Isn't the human spirit just indomitable? Never mind my life is well on it's way to over, I'm going to turn into June Cleaver if it's the last thing I do, even if it kills me.
Looking ahead, not back,
KEM
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