Girl Scout Cookies

I know I'm going to get a lot of flack if anyone ever reads this, but I have a rule about girl scout cookies; I don't buy them unless the girl scouts bake the cookies themselves, which they never do.

The girls (and mostly their parents) sell the cookies which have become increasingly smaller, with less cookies, and more artificial and unhealthy ingredients. Why don't the leaders teach the girls to make cookies, and have them sell fantastic cookies?

I saw a segment on SNL last night about this. The writer on TV wanted to buy the cookies all year in a store rather than be harrangued by small girls in berets and sashes only once a year.

He has a point, but I think if you had the cookies all year you would notice after a while, that they aren't as good as you might remember them being.

I went to a boy scout spaghetti dinner last night. I was ready for the worst and I got it. The food was like a school lunch. I was considering going to the kitchen and teaching them to cook, but they would not have had the ingredients, and frankly, they were not going to listen to me, a non christian in any case.

The scouts were sort of stunned like small cattle in an unfamiliar setting, but they followed directions, and tried to perform their duties to the best of their abilities. Some were better than others. Our waiter, not knowing us, was wary and seemed to have no sense of humor at all. He was unable to communicate further than what he had been told which did not include the fact that Spaghetti is also the plural for the word, and whether or not there was sugar in the iced tea.

I don't know how many diabetics went into shock after that carb and sugar loaded meal, but that is neither here nor there.

The kid at the next table called it paskettis, and even with some coaching by the men at his table, could not master the word. The pasketti kid, a small, white nerd type, while unable to pronounce the dish, was a lot more personable, and hung around the two large black men he was serving, making jokes, and having a great time.

What I wanted to point out here is that the boys were doing something more ambitious than the girls, and though it was for one night, the community was supporting them. Whether or not they made more money, I think the boys learned a little more real life experience than the girls.

I have gone up to a girl scout and taught her how to sell cookies. She was lackluster, and unwilling to speak to strangers. (probably from many years of indoctrination, and I cannot argue with the inntelligence of that).

She stood in front of me and wanly held a box of cookies with a limp wrist, and took no other action. I am not going to describe my lesson, but by the end of it, she was selling boatloads, and was also able to convince her parents to send her to Europe with a new wardrobe as a reward for being so enterprising. And no, I did not buy her cookies.

So, I really wish everyone would learn to cook decent food, and I wish the scouts of both sexes would find another way of making money. I know child labor has been abolished by law, but there's plenty of it going on. Perhaps they could become telephone solicitors.

Of Frogs and Men

I forgot to tell you. We had dinner at the London grill the other night, and there were frogs all over the place. Stickers on the wall and statuettes of every material known to man strewn over every surface.

Finally I asked someone. It has to do with a plague they said. Something about Passover. They have books by the cash register.

The Haggadah, I said.

Yes, he said, surprised.

So, I guess the locust theme would have been too much for L&I I mused.

Fat Again

Wow, am I fat. I took a photo for a hat that was not selling on my site. It is a flapper hat, and I think the main reason for it's not selling, it that it was not on a person. While it's true, I have been ill for 3 days, and eating almost nothing has lost about 5 pounds, the camera tells me I am gigantic.

I am wearing a large skirt which helps not a bit. Looks like an Army tent, sounds like a flag flapping in a strong wind.

Jeff suggests that I continue to not eat. Easy for him to say. It's 12 now, and I have not had anything, but I am going to have to have something. Yesterday it was 3 minute eggs, chicken soup, and jello, not much of any of that, and I gained a pound. I'm pretty sure it was just water that I lost.

Most of the time, I just forget about it, and then I see a photo. Of course, one year I lost 25 pounds and the pictures STILL made me look fat.

Bad Habit

Every night when I am too exhausted to read any more, and my wrists ache from holding the book up, I put it down, and turn off the light. Immediately I get too hot to be comfortable in bed, and outside of the bed, the heat has been turned down to nothing, which generally registers somewhere between 54 and 61 degrees Fahrenheit (just in case).

I try to drift off, but my mind starts dictating prose that it thinks I should write, and often, I get up, and those words are no longer available to me, so I write whatever comes to mind.

I should not get out of bed, but when you cannot sleep, it is hard to stay put.

Shopping

I could not stand being bound by the snow any longer. No, I was not buried under a mound of snow, but was just stuck inside because I don't think slogging about in 30 inches of snow is a lot of fun. Plenty of people do enjoy it, and when I put it that way, it sounds fun, but no thanks.

So, I went shopping. I am too big, I know it, you know it, every one is aware that I should not be buying clothes in this large size, but I've been good all winter. Not a thing. Not even from the Sal (salvation army). And I bought odd sale type items, and was fairly happy.

Then I went to Bloomingdale's. I saw stuff I loved alllll over the place, but even though I had mad money, I just could not spend 300 bucks on a blouse, jacket or anything else, for that matter. I am not a millionaire, and I tend to ruin my clothing almost immediately. It broke my heart, but I left all the flowery flirty, ruffled, chiffon peasant blouses in the store.

I came home and put on my new mud colored skirt that I would never have bought at regular price, or even on sale, but I had two different 5% offs, 50% on all sale items plus a $20.00 cupon, so the skirt was dirt cheap.

I went running up the stairs, and the skirt made the sound of a sail unloosed, luffing, as they call it, in the wind. Yeah, that's why they go on sale.

More about Brownies...

The Che sera Cook February 6, 2010

Here’s the thing. I used to go to this place in Philadelphia that had giant brownies. they were over 2″ tall and about 3×3 square. They were the best brownies I ever had, and I cannot for the life of me reproduce them. They were very moist but not fudgy,and also not cakey and they were consistent all the way through. Of course that place closed, but I did ask for the recipe and they acted like they did not know where the brownies came from. But I know, they came from heaven.

Appliance Mutiny

I don't know what's going on these days, but my kitchen seems to have a grudge against me.

I have had some trouble baking for about a year, and finally invested in an oven thermometer.It tells me what the actual temperature is, as opposed to what it says on the dial. Just as I suspected, it was at minimum 25 degrees lower than it should be and at max, 75 degrees lower.

The interesting part of that, is that it is not consistant, and coincidentally neither are my baked goods. I have tried adjusting the temp to match with spotty results.

The refrigerator has also started to act up. Suddenly the lettuce is frozen in two days. Ever see frozen lettuce? It does not stay frozen for long. It turns into green slime. Nice. BUT: when you turn the refrigerator to colder the freezer gets warmer. I think that's okay because the freezer was making things frostbitten. But this time, the freezer was too warm so I changed that, and then the refrigerator got too cold, and I am stuck in a circle, never having anything at the right temperature. On the other hand, and this is my go-to these days, I don't live in Haiti, so what's the problem?

The dish washer front fell off on my foot about a year ago. Turns out the crappy almond color that my husband made me buy all appliances to match, and which are going wonky, was actually just paint. The dishwasher (with the permanently stuck soap dispenser) is Harvest, Gold, a color which I presume was popular in the '70s. Swell.

The Water company has been doing a lot of work lately, and I caught one of them in the driveway with one of those wheel counters. I said: why don't you fix the pipes here?

WG: We have been fixing the pipes that are concrete from 1905, yours are cast iron from 1926, so it's going to take a while for us to get to it.

Our water is slowing down to a trickle, and guests won't stay because out of 3 showers, only one gets enough water to use. No baths, nohow.

Used to be I only had trouble with watches, and then with doorbells, two other stories. I don't know what's going on, but as long as they work marginally and stay rooted to the floor instead of roaming the house at night, I can probably deal with it.

I love the night lights..

I went to the dollar store where I loitered, goggling at brightly colored gee-gaws and mylar ballons, tube sox and amazing stacks of multi-colored plastic crap of all manner until Marilyn could extract herself from the long line in the Acme, and stalled in front of a Johnny Depp - Captain Jack Sparrow Pirate night light, realizing suddenly that I was listening to Gloria Gaynor singing "I like the night lights, I love to boogie, yeah...) and realized it was night life, but that it worked for me.

Etsy Blues

Sales have slowed down to a trickle though I have listed my heart out.

Okay, lame Valentine joke, but really, I gotta do more. They suggest the dreadded facebook or Tweeting, but I don't know about that.

So, I reduced the price of 3/4 of the shop to around five bucks. I may be taking a bath, but it might motivate all of you to spend your little pockets off. I sure hope so.

And speaking of Brownies

I decided to help my friend Lolly shorten her video time for her blog. She is a cute 30 something who is a great crafter, and web designer who I befriended. She does not have a TV. Good for her, and she gets a whole lot more than the rest of us mortals. But then I have to explain TV references, because she really isn't lying, she just does not know about what's on.

Find her blog at Lollychops.com and see if you can resist her.

I was telling her that to make her videos shorter would keep people watching instead of wandering to the kitchen for some fortifying brownies:

And speaking of brownies: Dr OZ (an Oprah TV doctor who, in real life is a brain surgeon, who incidentally, my sister caters affairs at his family's house and says he is real life cute)

Ok, he's a guy that people trust and who wrote a book: You, on a diet, (see local bookstore or Amazon) told everyone to dump the fridge of sugar, syrup, (he did not mention jams but I suppose...) fat, transfat, and saturated fat, white flour, etc. This is just not real life. I mean, okay, I switched to the whole grain bagels, but I have got to have butter, brown sugar or syrup in my oatmeal, or it would just be library paste!

I usually add some kinda fruit, and cinnamon. Mmmmmmm.

Aaannd, I like my pasta just the way the Chinese invented it. Plain semolina or wheat, no "good for you kind of stuff" I am sorry, I am just not getting used to it.

Something Fishy

When we were young, our grandfather came to visit every Saturday, or perhaps it was Sunday. He arrived with arms full of bags stuffed with smoked fish and bagels.

He brought lox, whitefish, smoked salmon, and my favorite at the time, smoked sable fish. I have no idea what fish that is actually called,unless it is sable, and I find it to be unbearably oily, but at the time, it was heaven.

He was a medium sized bald man, always in white dress shirt, and due to high arches, his shoes shined, were always untied in a very fastidious way. I can recall him laughing at some caper of my sister or myself, but mainly he appeared always to be calm silent and sober of mein.

Years later, I found out that he used to fish, go gambling and drinking with buddies, playing cards, and who knows what else, and having a lot of fun, but he never looked much like fun to me.

Because I was closer to my grandmother, he grew closer to my sister. Perhaps she feels differently than I about who he was.

He would come to our house and we would feast and then accompany him to the car wash where you could stay inside the car, watching the soap and water slosh against the windows. It was a perfect entertainment for small children, as it was cheap, we were contained in the vehicle, and it was of short duration ensuring that we were in as good a mood at the end as we were at the outset of the journey.

Today, eating an inferior smoked salmon, (which is not lox, but actual hunks of opaque salmon,) on a dehydrated unfrozen english muffin, I thought of my grandfather and his visits. I realize that I was never aware that those goods were expensive, not available in our suburb, and that he drove there from Philadelphia where he lived.

He never brought my grandmother with him. This was just a treat for his daughter (my mother) and his grandchildren, though my father also enjoyed the bounty of the delectable treats.

I was wondering where my grandmother thought he was. Surely, if she knew where he was, she would want to accompany him.

It's hard to find a good smoked fish these days.

Thrift

You know you may have taken the thrift thing too far when you look at the night stand, and realize you have bought the store brand seltzer instead of the generic seltzer you were buying before. It's called Zazz. Really that sounds like something a lot more excitng than seltzer, but it being lateish, I'm not sure what.

I've been trying to make a buck on etsy these days, (http://www.chandeluse.etsy.com) so I have been spending money to make money,like that makes sense, but the thing is, when you are going to make something, food, or crafts, or an arbor (or Ann Arbor, little joke thing there) you are always missing one thing that makes your project unstable, unusable, or just parts with nothing to hold it together.

Don't start me on the craft stores, I am prone to wander in any store I happen into, and come out hours later wondering where the time went, but that's another story. The craft stores are just full to busting with intrigueing looking everythings in little packages hanging on hooks looking desirable. Then there are videos on the net telling you how to use the stuff as if.. and sometimes you learn a thing. But generally I just walk by and only get what I came for, but lately, they have just broken my will and I have bought all manner off odd ink and stamping stuff, and really, it's harmless fun and pretty much needs neither talent nor esthetic judgement, because they take all the trouble out of these projects. I have been using the distress inks. They make it incredibly easy to do what I used to do with acrylic paint. Instant antique papers and documents, photos and all that. I also got some Alcohol inks, but have not gotten into them much yet.

If this sounds like the woozy rambling of a sonambulist, it is. I am wandering in the night kitchen again, but instead of eating, I'm just stream of thought right here.

Odoriferous

I was drinking my new favorite tea when Jeff walked in and asked "what stinks in here?" Since he is always asking that, I did not think much of it.

In fact, just moments before, I was wondering if my deodorant had given out, and smelled the inside of my shirt, and found no offense.

It was the tea! How can a harmless flavor like Black Currant, smell so much like human sweat? It's perfectly odd, and yet I like this tea so much...

Perhaps I should dash off a note to Twining's?

Watching the Feather

Alone on a Sunday on the weekend of Labor Day, I think about the possiblilies for the day.
No friends have called with invitations, and He is sailing, sailing away again, as if he might never return.

In lieu of going out in the car, I decide to breakfast at the Regency. I can walk there in no time at all, and perhaps I might meet one of the neighbors to talk with.

When I get there, Chris, the owner/baker is relaxing outside. I get a nice smile, his curly almond colored hair peeking out of his perpetual baseball cap, his eyes, bright in recognition of a semi-regular customer. Generally, I only go once a week, it being expensive to eat out every morning, and I have a date with my neighbor Mari on the next street. She is busy as a rule, and this is our one time together, though she admits to popping in several extra times a week for her daily au lait.

Having exchanged pleasantries with Chris, I go and order my treat for the day, orange plum scone and accidentally latte instead of au lait, with a bit of caramel syrup.

"I'll be outside" I inform the new girl at the register. In fact, everyone is new, and not knowing the facts of their disposition; school, fired, just left, I have to suspect a new regime with none of the colorful regulars to inspire mutiny among the ranks.

I retire with my scone to a black mesh table under the basically unnecessary awning, as it is on the shady side of the street, and pick up my book; interesting enough and well written, but the narrator is back, and I find nearly everything around me diverting and interesting. My internal companion, speaking in my head, will not stop talking, pointing out the interesting and mundane in no specific order.

Chris himself brings my drink, which is when I can tell, by the inscribed feather in the foam, that I have ordered the latte, with espresso, instead of the au lait, with regular coffee. Some days the latte is kind of bitter, but today, with the inclusion of a heavy dose of caramel, is maybe a bit too sweet, but the dark gritty flavor comes through making it totally indulgent.

As I read, I try to measure out the scone to last until I have finished my beverage, but that's just not going to happen. The two flavors, melded with the butter and flour make a soft crumbly pastry, and it is gone though thoroughly savored, before I have finished drinking.

I love it when I get the feather in my drink, and earlier, months before, I thought I was getting special treatment, a little picture just for me. It is a bad habit my sister chides me for, ascribing specialness to myself. In point of fact, I do not actually think it a bad habit, and also believe myself to be an outsider as I am treated as such by the general public.

With every sip, I expect the feather to disappear, and yet, it remains, long after I am convinced it should. The foam on the coffee is very fine and thick, and I can not drink it separately, but combined with the espresso below. Towards the bottom of the cup, the feather, barely changed, the sweetness becomes cloying, but I must finish to find out the end of my quest. Will it remain in the cup, sitting on the bottom, or will it be quaffed three quarters of the way down?

As it happens, the image does not dispel until the last sip, leaving the slightest tracing of white in a coating that looks like the fur on an elk's antlers, velvety and uncompromised. I wonder if there is someone who can read foam as they do tea leaves. Of course there is always someone who will take your money under false pretences, and I don't really know about the tea leaves, either.

Reluctantly, having met no one else I know, I bus my dishes, and head home with only the narrator chatting away, and my eyes pointing out every stray leaf, and patch of blue sky as a possible photograph.

Post Mortem

Let's face it. Both popcorn and french fries have a shelf life of say, plus or minus five minutes.

I came to work and decided that popcorn would have to be the breakfast of champions today.
As hot and steamy as popcorn comes from the microwave, it soon cools and only minutes after, becomes less fabulous, like a husband, or a diamond, or any other thing which is hard to obtain.

French fries are much the same, first you burn the inside of your mouth on the initial bite, then there is a minute or so where they are delicious, crisp hot oily ambrosia, and then, not.

We always keep eating them to the bottom though. We eat ever faster, trying to recapture the sensation of the first couple, but as the seconds tick by they become soggy, doughy, heavy, similes for the delight we craved when we started eating.

I got nothing else, I'm just calling the shots here.

Lost in Austen Again

I rushed off to the market this morning, tying my bonnet before I had even got in the carriage...
Actually, there was no bonnet involved, but something is afoot.

I was on my way to work at the chandelier restorator where I am employed, and saw a sign for a yard sale. There was nothing enticing about this sign, but follow it I did, to a sale of antiques on a driveway. I asked the guy in the tractor hat how he came to have so much not-junk.

It turned out that he was a clean out guy. In other words, an estate liquidator, or maybe it's the other way. In any case, there was a dazzling array of brass, finely polished, an old silver mirror and brush set, a good deal of depression glass and an impressive collection of black glass which is mysterious and wonderful in itself.

He had a bit of everything, and of course, I needed nothing, but still came away with a tin from his estimable display- Prince Albert, for my father who used to tell of his phone pranks; "well, if he's in a can, let him out!". I also, and for no known reason bought a set of Gumby and his pony Poky, a show from early TV, and what may have been a biker neclace of silver with a claw grasping a rather large chunk of quartz.

I left there to pick up a prescription, and going into the Acme (pinnacle of greatness) I was waylaid by the odor of cooking crab, that at 9 am, no less. Yes, just as in days of old, they were cooking crabs over an open fire, surely a code infraction in these fractious and litigious days. I tarried but for a moment, realizing that I could not take hot crabs, nor live ones to work with me, and sighing, moved into the building.

As I rushed past the aisles of artificial boxed foodstuffs, I came upon a tiny display at the side of an endcap that was comprised of English Foods. There was treacle, TREACLE, for God's sake, which foodstuff I had only read about in fairy tales. Also present was a sauce in an A-1 bottle bearing a name that was more like H-4 (the original) it said the original, that was not my addition. There were digestive bisquits, Devon cream custard, pickallili, Coleman't mustard, all antiquated and definitely English foods.

I mentioned it to the beautiful pharmacy girl whose name always escapes me though she knows my name, and she asked "So you feel like you are in another time period?"
Yes, I said, somehow, things are just a bit wonky this morning. She asked where the section was, and I said "somewhere around 6 I think, on the side. Or I could have made it up."

After that, we discussed yogurts, and I suppose the spell was broken, but it made me happy to have a little out of the normal experience. I was not, even after all that, late for work.

Dancing Machine

The other day a funny thing happened. I was at Frolic Wainright's, and we were leaving togther, me to fix my husband's dinner,he to a business meeting involving cowfolk, thus his attire of jeans, cowboy boots, a hat, and impenetrable shades.

As we passed through the parlor, a lively tune burst forth from the phonograph and Frolic, aptly named, began to gyrate, and to my surprise, took my hand in his.

It was Frolic who for years refused to take me dancing,. He hurt me by citing that our heights were too disparate, and worse, that I could probably not keep up on the floor because of his enormous grace and talent. He knew not at all, that petite as I was, we were equals on the dance floor.

So fifteen years later, you can imagine my shock when he dipped me deeply with infinite ease and grace, and in turn, he was surprised when I floated backward, following as if we were of one body, and lifting one leg high over his shoulder while my hair considered the floorboards.

He held me there for almost a minute when in an instant of inspiration I switched legs, kicking up my right leg, light as air, not at all affecting our balance, and as I rose from that position, pivoting away and laughing in pure joy of that short moment- he spun me and said "Not bad at all." and hastily added; "of course you'd have to wear heels, and I would have to wear flats if we danced." but knowing that all those years we could have been dancing together.

In fact, he never would take me dancing nor anywhere else, for that matter.

My broken heart ached as I started the car, turned on the radio, and going down the steeply turning drive, began to plan dinner.

The big Book of Aches and Pains

I woke up again with that headache that hurts so much my stomach hurts too. Instead of taking my thyroid meds, I took a Tylenol. I have not been taking them much, trying instead enteric aspirin, as it is an anti-inflammatory. I don’t know. It seems to have subsided. I have waked almost every night this week with the same headache. Of course, at the doctor’s today, I totally forgot to mention them.

The other thing I forgot to mention was the rash on my stomach. It seemed so slight that I put it out of my mind. Really, who am I, Oskar Levant? He was a great pianist and hypochondriac. I am a middling hypochondriac, and I never was really good at the piano. For one thing, I never could learn to read music. I also have trouble telling time, but that’s one you try not to tell people. That’s one that they have trouble understanding.
Also, it makes me sound stupid, and in my estimation, and that of others, I am just the opposite.

It is almost 4 AM, and as usual when I cannot sleep, I wake up and write or read.

Anyway, I am thinking about this stomach rash, and the fact that I thought it was just my normal weed rash which for reasons I have never been able to explain always manifests itself on my legs. I may be getting old and overweight, but the one thing I have (had) was perfect skin. My skin is silken, one man likened it to a velvet skirt I was wearing, and he told me that my skin was far softer. Men have always chosen to tell me how good my skin feels rather than how pretty I am. You should tell your lover she is lovely, or pretty or some such, even if she is not so to the general public. That should be a given. I have not had such luck. One young man, who thought I was asleep, told me I was beautiful. He never said such a thing when I was awake.

Wow, I am a giant digresser! So this rash, I am thinking, it could be heat rash, as I get warm and kind of sweaty when I walk too late in the morning. Or it could be the Black dog t-shirt I got from the Sal. The Sal is the Salvation Army, where I get a lot of stuff.

I was scared recently by a woman who was kept from flying with me. We lost the plane because it was infested with bugs.
That’s really all they said except that 3 different crews had refused to get on the plane.

The woman was a nurse, and told me a story where she and her family got on a plane from Ireland, and then several days later broke out in a rash which turned out after much medical research, to be scabies, small bugs which burrow under the skin. So I am thinking I have contracted scabies from this shirt, which, well, I don’t know who was wearing it before me, but generally people in Nantucket where the Black Dog is, do not have scabies, unless of course, they got them from an international flight, which at 4 am makes perfect sense.

I washed the shirt today, and all my walking garb, just in case.

Self Explanatory

So, I was tootling around the net and I found this great bakery, and I want to go but it's a good 3 hours away. Not justafiable.

Then, in the margins was an ad to recommend the best stuff, the best lipstick, (ok) and then the best bathing suit. BATHING SUIT??? Sir, I spit on you, and your advice!

Dress for Success

I need to burn all my clothes. My favorite jeans don't zip.

I bought some crop pants and they make noise when you walk, and ride down when you sit. They are going back, like most things I buy.

I gotta go to a shower, and it's raining. That's appropriate.

No one is going to care what I wear. That's a given, pretty much.

I'm putting a load of it on ebay, but I don't hold out much hope because none of it is juicy couture.