Happy, Little, Time Waster

 

Wyoming, Minnesota Fire Dept Christmas light show

The Friday Five Good Things

 

Five good things that happened this week.

1. I wrangled the kitties into the carriers for a visit to the vet. Good check up for both.

2. A high school friend retired to Arizona. She called and we had a lovely 2 hour chat.

3. I had the television and DVD player to myself so I watched The Electric Horseman

4. I finished last minute Christmas shopping. I think

5. Enjoyed all the houses with Christmas lights on the ride home from Teague's house.

How was your week?

TBT Reprints from CJ's Whine and Cheeze

  In 2003, Ma had a stroke. Dad was her full time caregiver until he he had a car accident that totaled the car. So in 2006, I became their chauffeur among other jobs.

At the time, to deal with the stress of running two households and working, I kept a blog entitled CJ's Whine and Cheeze. Egged on by some friends who enjoyed the first read through, you'll see your part when it comes by.

Wednesday, June 06, 2007

The Toonerville Trolley

Himself called to me as I was dumping my tiny saddlebag on the butler table. “How were the Weebles?”

I groaned.

“Do you need an aspirin?”

“No, I took some before I left the house this morning.”

“Need to blog?”

“Boy howdy, do I ever!”

He chuckled sympathetically. “What happened?”

After I dropped the Eldest off at work, I made good time getting to the Weebles. There wasn’t much traffic on The Pike (I-90). They finally finished (after 5 years!) the bridge reconstruction by the old Carling Brewery. Got to the Weebles, in 35 minutes without speeding! Got them loaded in the wagon, and we headed to Mahket Basket.

Course, it poured buckets on Monday, the day social security check funds were available, so all the Weebles in Middlesex county were shopping at Market Basket. There were no handicap spaces available. I off loaded the Weebles in front of the store and parked the car.

When I got into the store, Dad was feeding cans into the can return machine. Ahead, I saw people jumping out of the way so knew Ma had headed towards Dairy. As I got there, Ma was lifting 12 packs of root beer and ginger ale into her cart.

“Just wait a minute wait for him! Let him put the soda in his cart. This basket isn’t big enough.”

Dad shows up with a carriage and the two off us offload the soda. We’re down to the last pack. (3 root beer, 3 ginger ale) when Ma suddenly decided to take off too look at the special on shredded mozzarella cheese.

I yelled at her as I’m the one hanging onto a carton of ginger ale and the side of the scooter basket.

Finally, everyone was settled and heading in the right direction. Ma calling for this item and that item over her shoulder and me chucking items into her basket as I trotted along. Once in a while she was forced to stop and wait because some poor Weeble lady debating the fine points of sour cream or cottage cheese.

“Oh, lady! Hurry up!” Ma mumbles rather loudly.

I thought of the traffic jam Ma will cause when she has to sain all the meat. Tit for tat in my not so humble opinion.

We passed the fish market, which didn't smell as bad as it has in the past. Either that, or I’ve become immune to the smell. We arrived in the meat department and the ritual of the Monthly Blessing of the Meat begins.

Ma pointed and I leaned over the counter, grabbed a candidate, and passed the package to Ma. She poked, prodded, stared at the meat, passed the package back. Occasionally, she placed the blessed meat into her basket, and we repeated the ritual down the miles of refrigerated meat cases.

In front of the roasts, a Weeble gentleman turns to speak to us. “Beef is $6..99 a pound! Can you believe that?”

Now, I don’t do the grocery shopping. I wouldn’t know good prices from high. I can tell by the inflection of his voice he must be shocked with the price so I respond by dropping my jaw into a wordless “Oh” and widening my eyes.

He seemed pleased by my reaction. “I used to be a butcher. Top to bottom, beef has the same nutritional value. Doesn’t matter whether you are buying filet mignon or the hoof. You tell your sister over there.”

Now, I wasn’t sure if he was trying to be gallant and complimentary to Ma or to intentionally insult me. I held my tongue.

“Y’know, my wife says I talk to all the women, but I only talk to the pretty ones.”

I chuckled and realized he must be like Dad, married to a shrew (God bless Ma) and had to chat with strangers to pass a pleasant moment or receive validation. I put on my best smile, and we continued our separate ways.

Ma had accosted one of the meat managers and asked for a particular cut of meat. He went  through the swinging doors and returned with a half dozen packages. He carefully placed them in the meat case.

I selected a likely candidate and presented it to Ma for the ritual blessing until she found one she was well pleased with.

The meat manager was stocking the roast chicken bin.

“The meat’s all blessed and kosher,” I told him as I passed by.

He chuckled.

In produce, I noticed several adult children helping Weeble parents. We sounded like a herd of barnyard kids. “Maaaah, do you want the plum tomatoes or the Big Boys?” “Maaaaah, are these carrots ok?” Maaaaah. 🐐

Ma fingered the plum tomatoes. Her eye caught the 99 cent per pound over the Big Boys and one of the plums suicided to the floor and rolled under the counter.

I looked around, but no one noticed the sacrifice the little tomato made.

Ma wanted two pounds of the Big Boys. As I’m stuffing tomatoes into the plastic bag, I mouthed, “Don’t get the biggest ones. Take the smallest you can find.”

Around and around produce we went. Ma exclaimed over the high prices. There were sympathetic replies from other Weebles across the department.

Dad finally caught up to us, his basket amazingly laden with goods. Cereal, toilet paper, paper towels.

“Her Royal Heiney has a desire for prune juice,” I told him and sent him on a quest to the other side of the store from whence he came.

Ma zipped over to the bakery. She wanted a loaf of French bread. Some loaves had been put out that were warm and fragrant.

Another display captured Ma’s attention, and the old lady caromed off a table laden with pies. One pie box got caught by the backrest of her scooter. She did not stop but hit the accelerator and the pie box crumpled, and the tin pie pan curled up slightly.

We have a brand of commercial pies called ‘Table Talk’. This pie should be labeled ‘Table Gag’. I wonder how long before it appeared on the bargain table.

Dad had witnessed the pie fiasco and sang his own version of the “She’s Stupid” song.

Finally shopping was finished in record 2 hours. I directed the Weebles to a checkout line and left to troll the parking lot for a handicap space. No handicap spaces were available, but one next to a handicap slot miraculously opened up.

The Weelbes came out. Ma was toddling and pushing a carriage. Usually, she zipped across the parking lot on the scooter, neither looking right nor left for on coming traffic. I wondered why the change of routine. She hit an incline and the carriage slowly rolled forward with Ma wobbling behind. I’m reminded of a little toy I used to have. Donald Duck had a wheel barrow. If you put Donald with his wheel barrow on an incline, he would shuffle and sway his way down the track. Ma looked just like that.

I grabbed the carriage and Ma and we slowly made our way to the car. I tucked her hand into the crook of my arm for support and carefully guided her to the front seat. I’m struck by the idea of our role reversals. She is small and frail. How many times did she take my hand and guide my shaky steps when I was a toddler?

Groceries and Weebles finally loadeded into the car. I headed for the Weebledom. One quarter a mile away from Mahket Basket, Ma asked, “Would your husband be able to do me a favor later today?”

“What do you need?” I’m thinking she wanted their postage stamp of a lawn mowed.

“I need toilet paper, paper towels and Tide.” Her tone is wheedling, pathetic, and at the same time manipulative.

“What the ^#$@?” I shout in tongues. “Dad had toilet paper in his carriage.”

“I made him put them back. They were too high priced. If there’s time, you could take me to Donlan’s and that other place.”

“Why the %$@#$@ didn’t you just buy them at Mahket Basket.” My voice  rose to a dangerous level. I felt a pain form behind my left eye and had the fleeting thought to slam the car into the nearest phone pole.

“He wanted $9.99. Brooks has it for $6.99. I save $3 dollars!” she says smugly.

“You save money? You? What about me? Gas is $3.00 a gallon. I’ll burn one getting you to Brooks. There’s the $9.99 you tell me where the savings is.”

She folded her arms across her chest and began shouting "I know what I’m talking about."

Fine!

I’m steamed. Yes, go ahead, I can hear you laughing your ass off! “Better you than me!” I can hear you. I should have just driven them home, but instead, cut across three towns to get over to Donlan’s and Brooks. Donlan’s for a jumbo pack of paper towels and Brook’s for toilet paper and Tide.

“Joe, what would be the best way for her to go?”

“I’m going the best way!” I roar. “Sit back, shut up, and enjoy the ride.”

I hear “You go, girl!” from the back seat.

I’m not very familiar with the area. It’s changed a lot in the nearly 22 years I’ve been married, but I find Donlan’s and pulled into their parking lot. “Where’s this other store?”

“Across the street.” She is fumbling for blank checks.

Across the street is an Einstein bagel store. I’m pretty sure they don’t carry Tide and toilet paper there. Maybe they’ve come up with a new go together and slogan. ‘Let our hole take care of your hole.’

Dad pointed to another building just opposite Donlan’s , “That’s Brook’s”.

Fine.

“You go in Brook’s and I go in Donlan’s otherwise we’ll be hear all %@#%@#$ day!”

“What am I going to get in Brook’s?”

“Toilet paper and Tide!” Ma shouted at him.

I’m fuming as I headed into the store. “Driving the #$@!@# Toonerville Trolley!” I really loathe grocery shopping.

Back at Weebledom as I helped Dad unload the groceries I told him. “You better warn her this is the last time we go all over creation for one item here and one item there. It won’t happen again.

He’s sympathetic, but I know his hands are tied.

I burn rubber out of the driveway. I gave a primal scream at the end of their street.. I headed back to The Pike, one hand on the horn and one hand out the window. I felt the tension ease as I cross under I-495, the line of demarcation between Civilization and The Land of Here There Be Dragons.

“Y’know, Kid,” I told Himself as I wound down my tale. “The idea of moving to some Godforsaken place like Nebraska is starting to look appealing. Might have to go online to start job hunting for you. They must have one community college that needs a chemistry professor. Maybe you could work for some company that refines ethanol from corn. That’s about all they have out there anyway.”

“Your day could have been worse. You might have had to travel to Millis to pick up a pair of pinking shears because they were on sale like my mother wanted. Remember?”

“I think I’ll have that aspirin, now.”

By the way, may I direct your attention to the map. Notice the nice Stop and Shop grocery store just two miles from the Weebles house? Also Roche Bros. and Donlan's. One stop, one store. Sounds like a good mantra for me.

Doodling for Stress Reduction

 

On Mondays via Zoom, I participate in a class where we spend  a half an hour doodling our stress away. 

The theme for this week was "light". The quote in the tangled bulbs reads: In the chaos be the light.

T Stands for When The Lights Go Out

We finished running errands late in the afternoon. Then Himself dropped the suggestion of going out to dinner. No cooking? I'm in! We debated about where to go. The Post Office Pub or The UxLocale. The Ux won the toss and as we were driving there, I got a ping from the electric company that a power outage occurred in town with some 2,000 homes effected. Our house was right in the middle of the outage map. 

Well, no electricity to cook so a perfect excuse to eat out.

I started with an unsweetened iced tea with lemon while we looked at the menu. So many choices. I was having a hard time deciding between Chicken Marsala or the Get Figgy with it: white base pizza, fig preserves, sliced tart apples, prosciutto, arugula, balsamic glaze

Then we saw Chef Elaine had two tasting menus offering small plates like an Italian fancy dinner. Soup, an appetizer, a pasta dish, or soup, an appetizer, a pasta dish, and a meat dish.

Tasting Menu 1

Tasting Menu 2

With Tasting Menu 2 I could didn't have to decide between two things. I could have them both, sort of

The restaurant was cozy and decorated for the season with paper stars and twinkling lights. Chef Elaine came over to say hello. She greets a lot of the guests, but it makes you feel special to have the chef take time away from her busy kitchen. 

For my soup, I ordered the Haddock Chowder with smoky bacon. Perfect for such a cold evening.

Now regular readers will know that Himself doesn't like to get in the act of my taking pictures of food. I had to laugh when he insisted I take pictures of his choices. For his soup, he chose the French Onion with Beef Marrow. He liked the fact that cheese was melted on the toast instead of on top of the soup. He said melted on the toast made it much easier to eat.

Don't you just love Chef Elaine's mis-matched china?

For his appetizer, he chose Crostini with Sautéed Mushrooms. I chose the Fig and Honey Ricotta Crostini. That took care of the Figgy pizza I wanted. 

My pasta choice was Tuscan Shrimp served over orecchiette (Little Ears in Italian).  This little pasta was my grandmother's signature pasta.

Every week Grandma made tons of them by hand. Only in the Italian dialect she spoke, we called them capellini (we pronounced it coopellini, Little Hats after the round, broad-brimmed hats the priests wore in Italy) We used to tease her that she made enough macaroni (pasta was an upscale word) every week to put the Prince Pasta Company out of business. 

So I not only got a delicious plate, but a warm, fuzzy, memory of my grandma.

I forgot to take a picture of the pasta dish Himself ordered. Sausage in Vodka sauce also over orecchiette.

We both got the Chicken Marsala for the entree. Now, Chef Elaine calls the tasting menu small plates, but honestly there was so much food, I only ate half of the Tuscan Shrimp and only managed a bite from Himself's Chicken Marsala. We got boxes to take the rest home.

There wasn't even any room to muscle down a Cannoli or two. We thought out of all the times we have eaten here, the items from the tasting menu were the best we had ever eaten. By the time we got home, the electricity was back on.

Drop by hosts, Bleubeard and Elizabeth's blog to find out what the rest of the T Stands For gang is up to. If you want to play, include in your Tuesday post a beverage or container for a beverage. Don't forget to link your blog to Bleubeard and Elizabeth's page.

Monet and Me

are admiring some of the happy mail that has arrived.

All the way from Scotland, Tiggy sent a beautiful card she printed on her Letterpress printer. It makes me want to go to her Wee Hoosie to learn how to use the printing press.

For those interested in stamps, Royal Mail issued a stamp with the Three Wisemen. Tiggy also added some fun stamps on the front: a Christmas tree with red mittens and a Gothic letter C, her first initial and mine

on the back, a cheery reindeer

Cardinals on the return address stamp was a dead giveaway to the card from blog buddy, Finnbadger from Envelope 100. 

Finnbadger used the Winter Landscapes stamps. Kudos to the post office where you mailed your cards, Finn. A very nice and clear Christmas tree postmark.

I just loved the postcard you sent me of the Nativity scene.

My Christmas pageant is more crowded and I don't have any alligators. To those wondering, Godzilla isn't immolating the scene. He's using his atomic ray to warm the stable.

Robin, another blogger bud, usually makes her own Christmas cards. She said when she showed her designs to her family, they told her the designs were "wildly un-PC or downright offensive". I would have liked to have judged for myself. I do love the card you chose. Just wait until you see what I wrote inside your card! 😹

Thank you all for brightening my mailbox.

How Does Your Garden Grow?

Early morning moon through the trees

Martha bedazzled his walker

Red sky in the morning

Inside the hydroponics garden: cherry tomatoes

potential eggplants

lettuce and dill

This morning the red sky warning is snow.

How does your garden grow?