Author Archives: mohawkvalleygirl

Spaghetti and Meatbars

No, I am not mispronouncing my L’s. I actually did make meatbars.

The meal started with a tube of ground turkey that Steven and I had acquired some time ago (long story, not very interesting). Of course, ground turkey is not interchangeable with hamburger, so it sat in our freezer while I made meatball plans which somehow never came to fruition. At last, Sunday I made up my mind to purchase some sausage to mix with the turkey and make meatballs.

My first problem was that I could not find any loose sausage. No matter. I can get the casing off a sausage. I put both meats in a bowl and added some crushed garlic and bread crumbs with Italian seasoning.

I added an egg. Two eggs? It looked like enough meat for two eggs. And that’s where I was quite wrong. Two eggs was too many. My meat mixture was… not exactly soupy but definitely too moist. I tried adding more bread crumbs. I was emphatically not inclined to run back to the store for more meat.

Probably the meatballs would solidify when cooked. I tried rolling a couple. Not a success (no, I did NOT take a picture to immortalize my stupidity) (oh, yeah, I know, I’m writing about it in this blog. But who reads anymore anyways? Almost everybody looks at pictures).

Finally I poured the stuff into a baking dish like it was a cake mix. I smoothed it out and stuck in into a 350 degree oven. Twenty minutes later I had… I guess you could call it Italian meatloaf. I cut it into rectangles and added it to my sauce (which I had been putting together all this time. Should I have mentioned that?).

They did not taste too bad. However, as I write this I slap myself on the forehead and say “D’oh!” I forgot to add grated Parmesan cheese. I must try to remember that the next time I make a batch of meat… something.

Cheese Before Wine

Steven and I began our Friday Mohawk Valley adventures with a trip to Vintage Spirits in Herkimer, NY for a wine and cheese tasting. I was delighted to see that Three Village Cheeses was providing the cheese.

The wine tasting table seemed a little crowded, so I started with the cheese. Tom remembered me from last June. He had read my blog post from that tasting, so that established cordial relations right away.

I tried the feta first and immediately declared it my favorite. So smooth, so deep. I don’t know how people usually describe cheeses (notes of… what? I never taste the notes in wine either, so what does that tell you), but I thought the feta was substantial. The other heavy one was the tomme, which I think I declared my favorite last time. I like the ones that are more complex.

I happily nibbled the mild ones, too, and when I got to the Habanero Havarti (I think habanero should have a tilda over the n, don’t know how to do it on my computer) (point and laugh if you must), I knew I had found my cheese of the day.

I recently bought some store brand pepper jack at Hannaford and found I liked the bite. Well, this was a glorification of that taste. The cheese was cheesier! The pepper was peppier! It was better than yummy!

Having made up my mind on the cheese, I turned my attention to the wine. Of course, as I sipped I returned to nibble. Must experiment with wine/cheese pairings after all.

I believe I can purchase Three Village Cheeses at Ilion Farmer’s Market. If not, I will surely make my way to the cheese factory and retail store at 2608 Newport Rd., Poland, NY. I can get directions via their Facebook page. I think it is time to upgrade from store brand cheese. Sorry, Hannaford!

The Whistler Once Again

I was very happy on Saturday morning to see another Whistler movie listed for TCM. I naturally DVR’d it for Steven’s and my enjoyment on Sunday. By the way, Spoiler Alert! Although I do not intend to give away the ending.

The Secret of the Whistler opens with the usual shadow of a man and sound of whistling followed by voice-over narration.

I have not mentioned that all the Whistler movies have starred Richard Dix. So far we’ve seen him as a businessman who changes his mind about suicide by hit man, a mysterious stranger who enlists the help of a beautiful blond, and a rich guy who turns to murder after supposedly learning how to live. This time out he plays an apparently not very talented artist who nobody particularly likes living off his ailing wife.

The description of the movie in the Guide said an artist’s second wife suspects he killed the first wife. This is a plot that has worked very well in any number of gothic romance novels (these are the paperback books with a full moon, a castle and a beautiful girl running, not the teenagers with lots of black make-up) (I suppose I have just dated myself). It took me a while to realize they were going to spend most of the picture getting him married to Wife No. 2.

The movie starts out creepily enough with a woman ordering her own tombstone. At least, the movie clearly means for us to find it creepy or at least surprising. Haven’t these people every heard of pre-planning one’s funeral? The lady says, “You will be notified,” when asked date of death. Well, duh! I think it would have been a good deal more creepy if she had known the date. On the other hand, that may have meant she planned to commit suicide. Oh, hey, what if she would have put as her epitaph: “Murdered.” Just a thought.

Where was I? Ah yes, soon we have the set-up: unsuccessful artist husband sponging off dying wife while making up to beautiful blond gold-digger model. The other characters include a female artist, apparently successful, and her reporter boyfriend and another male artist who is friend and sometime employer of Blondie.

Richard Dix plays all sad-eyes my-wife-is-dying while Blondie plays all wide-eyed sympathy till we’re not really sure who is playing who. Actually, I wish they had played up Blondie as cold-hearted gold-digger a little more. For one thing, when she starts to suspect her new husband of murder she could have had blackmail on her mind. For all I know she did. I don’t think the actress was quite clear on the character’s motivations.

The movie takes an awfully long time to get going. A few times the Whistler addresses Richard Dix, asking him is he getting paranoid, is he getting desperate? I don’t think he did that in the other pictures. Once things do start moving, they move quickly enough gloss over a couple of “Wait a minute!” points.

For example, the loyal (to the first wife) maid is still around, per provision in the will (really, you would think first wife would have left the poor woman a pension, not just a crappy job). The maid says she’s staying to prove the husband a murderer. All she has to do is find the diary. Hello! They were on a three month honeymoon, during which time all the dead wife’s things were moved to the attic and the house redecorated. Even if the maid was locked out for the three months, are her duties so onerous she couldn’t find ten minutes to look in the attic since? It certainly doesn’t take Blondie very long to find said diary when she goes up there.

Things wrap up pretty quickly, as Whistler movies tend to do. Not a bad movie in spite of the slow start. I wish they had done a little more with the tombstone and given the minor characters more scenes, but what do I want in an hour and fifteen minutes? For a cheesy interlude on a Sunday, I enjoyed it.

Wrist to Forehead Walk

I am going to start a new feature and call it Wrist to Forehead Sunday (you know, that dramatic pose with a wrist to your forehead before you swoon from the stress). It seems I reach many Sundays convinced that I am utterly incapable of writing a decent blog post. Today I have at least three perfectly good Mohawk Valley topics to write on and I feel Blank. Rather than write yet another post about Why I Can’t Write a Post Today (which are, I guiltily admit, kind of fun to write), I dragged Steven and Tabby on a walk to the post office and I shall write about that.

To begin with I had written a letter to a friend (yes, I hand write letters which I send through the US Postal service and I delight in receiving one back). I had finished writing it earlier in the day, when I felt unable to write the blog post. I thought if I could write anything I could segue over. The segueing had not happened when Steven arrived home (I admit it: I had segued into doing a cryptogram puzzle in a puzzle book).

While he went up to look at the computer I had an inspiration that we would walk to the post office and I would write about that. First I had a Get Well card to write on Tabby’s behalf to a friend’s pet who is ailing. I wrote a letter from Tabby to Shadoe, utilizing the Historic Four Corners stationery I purchased at the Herkimer County Historical Society some time ago and had not used yet. I thought Tabby would appreciate having a letter from her written on stationery of one of her favorite places to walk.

We set out, walking down our street and admiring our neighbors’ Halloween decorations. One house had some cobwebs nicely covering the porch. I can never get those cobwebs spread out properly. They always bunch up. I pointed out to Steven some skeletons in a fishnet I had noticed earlier in the week.

We went through Myers Park to the post office. It had started to rain a little as we continued up Main Street. Steven put the hood of his jacket up, prompting Tabby to give him what I thought was a funny look. We bypassed the Historic Four Corners by going through a parking lot, in order to spend less time in the rain. This brought us out on Church Street, where I could show Steven the awesomely decorated house I had observed earlier.

They had added a coffin and more cobwebs. There were graves with a head and hand popping up I had not seen before, and some homemade graves I know were not there before. We pointed out to each other all the cool things, and I suggested we return for another walk after dark, because there are obviously things that light up.

After that it had stopped raining, so we continued up Prospect to German. We did not see any more Halloween decorations, but we observed a tree with some lovely orange leaves and a black cat on a porch. Nature’s own fall decor.

Well, I guess this turns out to be not a bad post after all. Or do I flatter myself? At any rate, I feel a lot less wrist to forehead now. See you on Middle-aged Musing Monday. Or Monster Movie Monday, depending on what I do for the rest of the day.

Disreputable Run

I guess Saturday Running Commentary is back.

This morning I ran a couple of errands (OK, one errand), so got running after 9:30. That is the joy of this time of year: you don’t have to get out the door prior to 7 a.m. to run in a comfortable temperature.

I have taken 13 days off running (I went to the calendar and counted). I can explain this as I explain many of life’s vicissitudes: shit happens. I almost talked myself out of it yet again, but then I thought I might be glad if I ran.

One good thing: all my running clothes were clean. I didn’t even have to search the laundry basket for socks. Bonus! I set out with determination and high hopes.

And at first it was not too bad. I knew I would not run any hills, and I knew I would not run very far, and I think everybody knows I do not run very fast. But I ran. I crossed German Street, because I saw a pick-up truck parked across the sidewalk. I did not feel like running around it, and I had a good opportunity to cross. Then as I got closer to it I was glad, because a guy was standing near it talking to two ladies on the porch. Not that I mind running by people and even saying hello, but to interrupt their conversation and run around their pick-up truck seemed a little complicated.

So there I was on the side of German Street with all the hills. Surely one little hill wouldn’t kill me. I decided not to take the chance. I ran up a block of Main Street so I could cross over and run down the nice path over what used to be a hydraulic canal. I looked at the houses now next to a nice path not a nasty ditch and thought they must like it. I saw a lady waiting outside a house. Waiting for a ride to work, I speculated. Then I speculated she worked someplace with a lax dress code, because she was wearing sweatpants. As I got closer she turned so her back was to me. I guess she didn’t want to take a chance I would say hello, but maybe I am again speculating.

I continued down German Street and ran up Dorf Street. I like Dorf. It looks a little back roadsy, because it is very quiet and there are no sidewalks. It curves around too, and that adds a little interest. Dorf crosses Prescott, a dead end street. I started to go up Prescott but saw a pit bull looking dog which may or may not have been on a leash. I turned around. He may have been a perfectly nice dog, but most dogs get a little agitated at runners.

I went back down Prescott onto German and quickly found a place to cross back to my side of the street. I saw a pedestrian walking on the side I’d just been on, coming towards me. I waited till she got closer to wave or say good morning. She kept her eyes pointed studiously ahead. I thought I must look more disreputable than I thought. I wondered if the pick-up truck people would have greeted me but turned off German before I got that far so I will never know.

After a while I got a little tired of running, but I persevered. It wasn’t a bad run at all, except for the people who acted like they didn’t want to look at me. But perhaps I’m reading too much into it. Still, before I go running again I may spruce up my running outfits a little. Too bad I don’t know how to post a picture.

Best Lame Plans

It is not easy to write when you have a raging sinus headache.

My original plan was to write two posts on Thursday. Then Friday after work I would have only to hit “Publish,” and Steven and I could be off on our Mohawk Valley adventures.

Well, Thursday, I found out that it is not easy to write when you are dreadfully nauseous and laboring under strong emotions. Thursday’s post, in case you couldn’t tell, was composed at the computer with not a whole lot of time expended. Believe it or not, a great deal of thought was expended. It just didn’t seem to do me much good.

Fast forward to Friday (today) (oh, wouldn’t we Monday to Friday workers LOVE to be able to do just that). I was determined to write something that I could hurry home and just type in. After all, how hard could it be? It’s Lame Post Friday!

A little voice in my head is saying, “Cindy. Isn’t it time you stopped this obsession of posting every day? It was all very well for the first year, but now how many times a week are you craving people’s indulgence for another dumb post? Shouldn’t you be going for quality over quantity?”

To that voice I say, “Oh, do be quiet. Why can’t you say something interesting, like the voices in other people’s heads? Maybe something involving aliens and a tin foil hat.” I think I would look rather fetching in a tin foil hat. I wonder if it would do anything to alleviate the headache.

Thursday’s Tale about Wednesday’s Walk

I mean to start running again, so I can write some posts about running. I’m not up to it today, though, so I will write about a walk I took yesterday with my schnoodle, Tabby.

It was maybe 40 minutes before Steven was due to leave work, and maybe 45-50 minutes before I had to leave for a meeting of the Ilion Little Theatre Club Board of Directors (did I happen to mention I’m secretary?). Tabby was restless. I knew if we started walking she might think we were going to meet Steven, but I thought if we walked towards her favorite Historic Four Corners she wouldn’t mind so much.

I don’t think she minded too much. She still looked up with interest at every car that passed, especially if they happened to slow down. But she was happy to walk. I was happy too. The temperature was just right for walking and my legs were loving the exercise.

The best thing was a house decorated for Halloween. I love Halloween! This house had an entire graveyard in the side lawn (it was on a corner). Various ghosts and skeletons hung from the trees. The porch boasted a large skeleton and a body wrapped in gauze hanging upside down. Eek! I saw some lights and immediately made up my mind to walk there again after dark (preview of coming attractions).

That was in fact the only memorable feature of the walk. We went down Main Street, though the park by Basloe Library, then around the block back to Main (it was Tabby’s idea). I admired the Post Office as usual, a beautiful historic building, and felt guilty for not writing anybody any postcards this week. We went by Pete’s Tavern but did not go in, because Tabby is not 21. And I didn’t have any money. Oh, yeah, and I intended to drive to my meeting later.

Crazy Otto’s Empire Diner was open for dinner and I thought, “Damn, if Steven was home and I didn’t have a meeting, we could go eat there!” Which may have made a better blog post, but sometimes these things can’t be helped. We also went by Hummel’s Office Plus, closed for the night, and the Belly Up Pub, not yet open.

Last Thursday I posted Lame. I think this Thursday has been even worse. Maybe I need a feature for Thursdays, you know, like Lame Post Friday or Middle-aged Musings Monday. The Thursday Trudge? I wrote a post once called “Trudging through Tuesday.” It received the only negative comment I have ever gotten in close to 500 posts. Oh dear, I think I’ve just asked for trouble. Well, hate me if you must (but not because I’m beautiful) (that was a reference to an ad from the ’80s, not a demonstration of my considerable ego). Point and laugh if you like. I can only do the best I can.

Mid-Week Middle-Aged Memory

Alternative title: “When the Hand Dropped”

Last Sunday while watching It! The Terror from Beyond Space, I suddenly said, “I’ve seen this movie!”

A crew member is missing. The rest of the crew has not yet seen the monster, although the audience has seen its feet (which, come to think of it, look a little bit like the Creature of the Black Lagoon’s). One man is standing next to a ventilation grate, pondering. Suddenly, a lifeless hand drops down, inside the grate, right in front of him. EEEEEEEEEEE!

I remembered that hand dropping down. It is, in fact, the only thing in the entire picture I remember from that viewing. Do you suppose there are other sci-fi monster movies where a hand drops down in a grate? And what occurs to me now as I write this is why is that ventilation grate a great big square at eye level looking for all the world like a window? But that’s neither here nor there. I remember the hand.

It was the ’70s. My parents would go out for dinner and dancing on a Saturday night. These were more elegant times: my mom and her friends would wear long dresses, the men wore suits. I admit to being envious. My older sisters and I, once Victoria was deemed old enough to be the babysitter, got to stay up till Mom and Dad got home.

Oh, the joy and mystery of staying up late! These were the days when cable offered seven channels and some stations went off the air at midnight. It was a challenge to find something to watch. We loved it when one of the all night stations showed a scary movie. Who doesn’t want to see a scary movie? At least, who wants to admit to not wanting to seeing a scary movie? I seem to think I wanted to be scared, then didn’t necessarily like it so much when I was.

So there we were, ready to be scared. When the hand dropped, we jumped.

“I don’t think anything would have scared me more than that hand,” Victoria said.

“What if it was that things head?” I asked. I think the thing’s head would have been more scary.

I took all these fake monsters at face value. If I was meant to be scared, I was scared. I was scared of every monster on Lost In Space, even when I could see where they had recycled a monster from two episodes ago.

Well, maybe not as scared of the recycled ones. Then too, things are always scarier at night, especially when Mom and Dad aren’t home. Lost in Space re-runs were generally shown in the afternoon, so those monsters were automatically less nightmare-inducing.

Sometimes we could catch a scary movie on a Saturday afternoon. Didn’t there used to be a feature called Chiller? A six-fingered hand would rise up out of a swamp and a gravelly voice would say, “Chil-ler!” Those were the days.

I suppose now I could segue into a middle-aged musing about how I am trying to recapture my childhood by watching these old movies. I don’t think that’s it, though; I think I just enjoy writing about them. And, you know, really, what I’d like to recapture is my parents’ young adulthood and wear a long dress to go out dancing on a Saturday night.

Cheese from Beyond Space

After enjoying our Whistler movie on Sunday, Steven and I arrowed down on the DVR list to It! The Terror from Beyond. It was not until we actually started watching that we discovered the full title is It! The Terror from Beyond Space (1958). It is a misleading title. The terror in question is not from beyond space; it is from Mars, which is right in space (that’s not really a spoiler; we find that out early on).

This time we got to hear some commentary from Ben Mankiewicz, and I knew my instinct for cheese had not misled me.

“Campy? Yes. Cheesy special effects? Yes,” Mankiewicz says. What could be better? He goes on to praise the plot, which has been credited with inspiring Ridley Scott’s Alien. I remember being pretty scared at Alien, and a little grossed out. I also remember that I ultimately did not like that movie, because I don’t like movies where everybody dies — or everybody but one (sorry, Sigourney Weaver). I hoped everybody wouldn’t die this time out.

The movie opens with the sole survivor of a mission to Mars which came to grief. A second mission is going to pick up the survivor and bring him back to earth to face court martial charges of murdering the other eight (or is it nine?). We see a press conference where a guy announces this and all the reporters rush out of the room. I don’t know why they didn’t stay and ask any questions. For example, why would you thing such a thing?

Cut to the ship. Having picked up the prisoner, they are about to take off.

“Hey! Why is that hatch open?” The guy sees on a monitor that it is open; we don’t actually see it.

“Oh, sorry, I was dumping out some crates.”

Gee, I hope nothing got in, don’t you?

At this point I said to Steven, “Oh, I see what the plot’s going to be. The monster’s going to start killing people off and they’re going to think that guy did it.” The plot is actually nothing of the kind. Maybe it was a silly thing to think. After all, what could the guy gain by killing his rescuers/jailers? They’re on a space ship, for heavens’ sake! It’s not like a bus or car he can hijack and drive somewhere else.

Still, I think that would have made a pretty good plot, especially if at first even the audience isn’t sure there’s a monster. In fact, we see the monster right away and there is no doubt in the minds of the crew that someTHING is doing the killing. First we see the monster’s feet. Then his three-fingered, claw-like hand. Then his ugly head.

This is not as suspenseful as it sounds. I mean, we’re seeing the monster; he is not merely hinted at. Then again, the lessons of Jaws were over ten years away. I suppose, too, that guys in suits are never as scary as CGI or whatever it was they used in Alien. Still, they tried.

I bet the guy that was going to the court martial feels just a little bit glad when people start getting killed by the monster. Well, maybe not glad, exactly, but inclined to say, “I told you so!” Sometimes it takes drastic measures to fight murder charges.

There is a bit of a love triangle among one of the women, court martial guy and one of the wounded crew members. She does a lot of hand holding, and, as usual in these situations, I don’t know what she sees in either one of them.

I thought it was very progressive of them to have women on the ship. Of course, they were the medical personnel not real astronauts, but still. They were on the ship, and they did stuff other than scream and be rescued. In fact, I don’t think they did scream, be rescued or do any of the stupid movie female things I like to complain about. You go, girls!

I enjoyed the movie. Ben Mankiewicz was right: the plot is good. The one thing that cracked me up was that every so often they cut to a shot of the space ship moving through space. Like they need to remind us.

It is a long, tall ship, looking a lot like whatever number Apollo was going to the moon when I was in first grade (roughly 100 years ago). I remember at that time being amazed that most of that big ship was fuel needed for take off. In this case, it’s all ship. The interior has a kind of a town house design. Each floor is accessed from the one below via a steep stairway and a center hatch which closes very slowly. There were a couple of times I would have been jumping on that hatch trying to make it close quicker.

I probably would have broken it and then the monster would have gotten us all. Maybe leaving one survivor. Just like in those movies I don’t like.

Another Whistler Tale

Spoiler Alert! It is possible I will give away almost every plot point for the following movie. But I promise not to tell who the murderer is (there now, you see, I just gave away that there’s a murder!).

Saturday before last when I perused the listings for TCM, I was delighted to note a Whistler movie. After I reviewed two Whistler movies in this space, a reader told me there were eight Whistler movies. Naturally I would like to see them all. I even hoped this would be a weekly thing on TCM — a Whistler movie every Saturday for eight weeks. Alas, this past Saturday offered no Whistler movie. No matter; I still had The Voice of the Whistler on DVR. We watched it Sunday afternoon.

I noted that the movie was directed as well as co-written by William Castle. That boded well. The movie opens a little differently from the other two Whistler movies I’ve seen, with a shot of a lonely lighthouse on a rocky cliff with crashing waves. Still, a lonely lighthouse is good for a scary movie — remembering a movie I’ve reviewed recently whose name escapes me but which featured a character named Vi who gets pitched out of the lighthouse onto the rocks below.

We hear the familiar whistling and see the shadow, this time on a wild, craggy shore instead of a back alley in a city with a thousand secrets (I guess “city with a thousand secrets” sounds more Raymond Chandler than William Castle).

The entire movie is a flashback. Steven has pointed out that this is a common technique in old movies. The flashback is of course a time-honored fictional technique in many mediums. In general, telling the whole story as flashback is going a little far, but in this case it is appropriate.

We are introduced to a woman who despises and fears loneliness yet lives alone in this abandoned lighthouse (complete with cat). Why? It is a result of greed and murder. At least, looking back I can’t quite remember if the Whistler actually mentioned murder in his intro. But why would the Whistler be telling a story that did not involve murder?

As it turns out, we have to wait a long time for the murder. First we meet an industrialist. This movie is unusual in that we actually get to see what his business is — he makes cars. At least, he bought the manufactory and made a huge success of it. Perhaps he has other businesses to make a kind of an empire. At any rate, he’s filthy rich and has no friends.

Just about the time he decides to get a personal life, he has a heart attack. En route to a boat cruise, to relax and regain his health, he collapses again and ends up in the care of a cockney cab driver living in one of those movie working class neighborhoods I would love to live in.

Sparrow, the cab driver and easily the most likable character in the picture, begins to teach Rich Guy how to gain friends. It seems Sparrow was once a boxing champ, plenty of money but no idea who his real friends were or how to enjoy life. Now he walks down the street, greeting folks by name, asking about their families, and basically giving Rich Guy a lesson in a better way to live.

At a clinic to which Sparrow brings Rich Guy, we meet a beautiful nurse, who will eventually become Lonely Lighthouse Lady (complete with cat). She is engaged to a young doctor but is putting off marriage because she does not want her kids to grow up in the poverty she sees at the clinic.

Excuse me, what? The neighborhood is peopled with friendly working class salt of the earth. The clinic is a compassionate haven that strives to treat the whole person. Yet it is a hole of squalid poverty from which the nurse is determined to escape?

Everybody loves her. In fact, Rich Guy falls in love with her, after a series of events that I won’t spoil for you. Eventually the stage is set for murder.

I have to say, the Nurse/Lonely Lighthouse Lady (complete with cat) is not a consistent character. She veers from being a generic beautiful movie girl, to a dame with a hardscrabble past determined to make something of herself (by marrying; this is the ’50s, after all), to being a shrew witch, to being, you know, Lonely Lighthouse etc.

Her young doctor lover — “the young man who doesn’t have to be rich but doesn’t dare to be poor,” according to a later conversation — is hard to get a grip on too, but that may be because he is busy reacting to his girlfriend’s changes.

Rich Guy, in the meantime, seems to have forgotten the life lessons taught him by Sparrow. Did I say Sparrow is the most likable character in the picture? On second thought, he is the only likable character in the picture. Except for a few really minor players who we see only once or twice briefly.

The whole movie is really more of a character study than a thriller, horror or murder movie. Which would have been fine had the characters been better developed. As it is, by the time we finally get to the murder, it is too little too late.

And then it’s like they ran out of time, because the Whistler comes back on as a voice-over and wraps everything up. We are left with the image of the Lonely Lady in the Lighthouse, petting the cat. And the hope that TCM will show a more exciting Whistler movie soon.