The black hole under the sink...

I was just in the bathroom trying to retrieve the dogs brush when I realized that as careful as I was to only put essentials under there, it was starting to resemble a black hole.  Things went in there, never to surface again.   So I rooted around and found stuff that really didn't need to be there.  But I really wonder, why aren't there some kind of organizers built in there?   I recognize you need to be able to access the plumbing, but gee whillikers, I can't be the only who kinda puts stuff in there and never retrieves it.  It's like there is something that lives under there, and takes your stuff and never gives it back, or at least doesn't give it back until you beg, plead and crawl in there after it.   And I don't know about you, but I really don't like crawling into little black holes or spaces under sinks or closets or ....

Hate trying to buy a car

OK, so this is my personal rant and rave page.  And I want to rant and rave about the process of buying a car.   Grrrrrr..........

Why do dealers make it so difficult to get a price.   Don't they know what they paid for the car, how much of a profit they need to make to keep the doors open?    But I keep hearing stuff like, well there are a lot of variables we need to consider.   All I want is to get a price, even if it's not the final price, just a price so I know whether or not it's worth my time to drive 75 miles or more to sit in a dealership while they play the 'waiting' game to see if I'm really serious.   I mean really, how difficult is it?   

Why am I ranting today, well, gee, let me see.   My car is 12 years old, has over 142,000 miles on it, and is getting tired.   I still love the car, but can see the reality that maybe it might start costing me money just to keep it on the road.   And I really don't want to get stranded in one of the forests in our area cause it suddenly decides that it has given its all for me.    

Sorry I got sidetracked there.    Let me get back on the road, as it were.    I called a few dealerships yesterday, told them I was looking for a specific vehicle, and wanted to know what kinds of specials they were offering on it.   I thought that was a fair question.    I did mention to one dealer the 'online' special that was being offered by the manufacturer.   Told them I understood that there were other factors involved, but wanted to get an idea of what they would charge.  So far, we've talked 4 times, and I still don't have a price.   I get the ' What do you want to pay?"  " Are you going to put money down?"  which I had already said I would.   Are they not listening because I'm a woman?  Or is this just a big game to them?   They have the vehicle, they hold the cards and I'm the supplicant who's asking pretty please may I have a price.   Just too frustrating for words.   Now, I'm going to go with some more dealers and see if any of them return calls.  

I'll update this later on, but for now, picture this.   I'm standing on my best cookpot and beating the sales people over the head with whisk or should that be a meat tenderizer, hmmmm......  

Kinda sad today...

Actually I was kinda sad the past few days.    I resigned/quit/gave up my volunteer cooking gig at the senior center here, and last week was my last lunch there.    And I'm going to miss it.  Really, but at the same time I'm relieved.   So I guess I'm torn up between being sad and relieved. 

No more menu planning, no more shopping, no more cooking, and that is something I really enjoyed doing.   I loved the camaraderie of the volunteers, we had some good times, a lot of laughs, a couple of tears, some oops in the kitchen, and I'm thinking of the scorched sauces mostly, but nothing that was catastrophic in nature.   Our meals were served on time, mostly.   We did get a couple of delays, but really, we did good.  

The other volunteers were awesome as well.   I want to give a shout out to Don, who came in pretty much every week, and helped us out.   He's 87 I believe, and has a bad back, but shows up with laughter in his heart.   And then there is Wally, who also showed up most weeks, and also has a bad back, but did his part in the prep work.   Ginnie, who showed a real aptitude for doing whatever we asked of her.   Miss Dot, who made some awesome deviled eggs, several dozen a week, and brought them.  Miss Merle, who is legendary around here for her baking prowess.   Miss Reba who came and helped out a few times.   And Sarge, who taught me so much before he had to leave.   And we had our share of snowbird volunteers, Janey,  who fell to with a will, Miss Pat, who came in early and stayed late.   All the great people who stepped up to serve the food to the seniors, and finally, my fellow cook, Robin.   She also taught me an incredible amount.  We had more laughs, and she was one of the main reasons I looked forward to going in every week.  

Thank you to all of you, and I appreciate your kindness in letting me come in and cook alongside you all. 

Love to cook but...

I love to cook.  Really I do, I love to feed people, watch them eat and enjoy my food, and basically just nurture people.   But, when I donate my time or volunteer if you will, and try my best, please don't feel free to castigate me.  I don't mind you coming back and telling me that 'hey, you didn't put enough cabbage into that dish', or  I like that, but you could have done a better job if you'd used less noodles'  both of which were actual comments made to me.   I don't mind that, but please don't sit there and fill up your plate and then complain about the food you're eating.   If you don't like it, don't eat it.  Or more importantly, don't take it and then poke at it with your fork as if that food item was a piece of maggoty meat. 

Sorry, I had to get that off my chest. 

I've been volunteering as a cook for the past few months and have really enjoyed the experience, mostly.   There have been a few blips along the way, some oops, some disasters that got fixed, mostly, but overall a good time.  

I slipped on a cliche the other day, a banana peel.

Sometimes life just hands you a cliche, all tied up and ready to process.    And that's just what happened to me.  
I slipped on a banana peel.  Yup, a banana peel.   The real thing, all squishy and yucky and very recognizable as a banana.   Luckily for me I was returning a cart into the store so had something I could hold onto, or I would have, as the saying goes, gone "Ass over teakettle".    It just so happened that there was a store employee right there, and she hurried up and got a paper towel and wiped up the banana.   I didn't even get a picture of it with my phone, darn.   Of course I was just a tad shook.   But the employee managed to get rid of the evidence so even if I was a touch on the litigious side I wouldn't have any evidence.   But I was just fine, it wasn't the stores fault that some idiot dropped or threw a banana away, right where people walk.   And if it was going to happen to someone, at least I wasn't hurt.   A child or elderly person could have been injured and that would not have been a good thing.

And I now have my own claim to fame, I slipped on a cliche, a banana peel.  

Letters

I stood at the window today and watched a piece of my life drive away in the garbage truck. It was an interesting moment, one in which part of me wanted to run after the truck and tell him to give me back my garbage, so I could go back in time and re-read the letters I'd thrown away. But reality hit and I realized I'd never be able to run down the stairs fast enough to get outside before they drove away.

I'd been going through a box of papers, bits and pieces, odds and ends of flotsam and jetsam. Some actually dating back over 40 years. There were letters written to me from people who are no longer a part of my life, people in fact who are no longer living and no one in my life now would have any conception as to who those people were or what they meant to me at one or another point in time. Life marched on, lives were lived, and lost. The minutia of life as chronicled in the letters would be of little interest to anyone else but me. So I made a decision, and the letters were thrown away. And now I wonder if I regret it, but I can't because it's just one more thing that someone, whoever is left after I'm no longer among the living, will have to throw away. The letters that were sent to me, weren't from anyone important, to anyone now, just good friends who either passed away or passed out of my life many years ago. They meant something to me at one time, and I kept them as a measure of respect for the friendships we used to share, even if they had no idea that I was keeping them.

Some of the cards I open are bittersweet, the authors long passed away, and they are missed to this day, family members I'll not see again. And I keep them, even though their memories will live on long past the time I finally leave this existence. My way of keeping them close in my heart still.

My eyes tear when I read a missive from my father, telling me that he hopes I can read his English, and then he adds a postscript in Danish, and I am comforted by him, his love reaches beyond the grave and into my life 32 years later. That he made the effort to write in a language, his second language, one learned when he was in his late forties, so that I could read it. Something I think I appreciate more now than when I was in my twenties and first received the letter. And it happens it was the last letter he sent me, he let go of life not long after. And then the next card I pull out is a birthday card from my mother and when I look at her signature, so laboriously written after a paralyzing stroke, I'm struck again by the love that she gave me. She made the effort to write out my name, wish me Happy Birthday, and signed it Love, Mom. And I know how long that took her and how hard it was for her to do.

I find a note written from a long vanished friend and remember how we used to pass notes back and forth in class. Somehow we were never caught, but thanks to my keeping the note, I can go back to Junior High for a minute or so and remember. And marvel at the insecurity, the innocence and the joy we felt when a certain boy liked or didn't like us.

So many good memories, all tied up in a box, and I decide to keep at least one of each letter, maybe sometime in another few years I'll pull out the box again and reread them, and travel back in time, just for a few minutes. I'll visit with my parents, my niece, my sister, my friends long gone. And shed another tear or two and remember them as they were, and rejoice that I once had them in my life.

Too many cooks, grrrrrrr

I love to cook, and watch people enjoying my food.    But please keep your (&)&(*&( mitts off of my pots or pans.  I know what I'm doing,  I can ask to have someone else stir something if I can't get to it.  But please don't pull the lid off and stir it unless I ask you to.

And that's another thing.   Please don't second guess me.   Really, I do want the carrots cut that way, and yes I do know how to roast the meat, and season it well.  

And if you call yourself a chef, act like it.   I recently had a negative experience with someone who called himself a 'chef', and proceeded to whip the daylights out of a batter that I'd asked him to fold flour into.   He made a roux that had lumps, then proceeded to whip the lumps out of the sauce.   There are some basic rules in cooking, and whisking something that needs to be folded, are contradictions.    And if you look the words up in a dictionary, they will even give different definitions.   Amazing, huh?   

Just had to get that one off my chest, now maybe it won't stew around in there as much.