Category Archives: humor

My Cookie Adventure

I hope nobody thinks I am trying to turn this into a culinary blog by immediately following a cooking post with a baking post, but it occurred to me as I was making these morsels that it might make a good blog post. And, you know, it’s Christmas week. I celebrate and I’m not ready. I think this will be something I can write fast but still be worth a read. We’ll see.

So I had this bold idea to make cookies for Christmas. I used to do this a long time ago, make scads of cookies and give them out by the plateful. Till one year I was pressed for time and got so stressed, Steven suggested I cut back. I thought this good advice and took it. However, I find if I don’t make cookies too often or too many at once, it can be an enjoyable occupation.

Fast forward to 2014, when some people at my place of employment had a pig-in one of the last days before shut-down. Naturally I participated. And proceeded to make rather a pig of myself over these little round cookies with mini chocolate chips. I asked my co-worker for the recipe, if it wasn’t a family secret. It was not. I wrote it down in the crappy notebook I keep in the cargo pocket of my BDU pants (which I wear to work).

When I was at the store this morning I purchased mini chocolate chips. I was pretty sure I had the other ingredients (and here’s where I hope this recipe isn’t copyrighted and illegal to share): 3 sticks butter, 3/4 cup powdered sugar, 1 tablespoon vanilla, 1/2 teaspoon salt, 3 cups flour, bag of mini chips. My friend said he uses margarine, but I used real butter. I put it out to soften and puttered around doing other things for a while.

After preheating the oven to 375 degrees, I got out a bowl and started putting in ingredients. Oh dear, there wasn’t a whole lot of powdered sugar in that box. Surely there would be 3/4 cup. There was. Phew! Now the bottle of vanilla doesn’t look if there is a tablespoon’s worth. Mmm… no. Crap! I went to six stores this morning and they all had grocery sections! Why oh why do I never check these things before I leave the house? I looked once more in the cupboard, just to be sure. Oh, there is an unopened bottle of vanilla. Silly me.

I began to stir the mess with a wooden spoon. It was tough going. That butter had not softened very much. I tried the potato masher. Mash, scrape off masher, mash, scrape off masher, repeat till arms get tired. I began to question my recipe. Surely there must be an egg or something to add more moisture. This is what I get for following a recipe that was verbally told to me while I wrote it down. I admit I am not the most reliable scribe.

Then I remembered my friend telling me he mixed it with his hands. I knew I was going to have to use my hands eventually, because you roll these into balls rather than dropping them onto the cookie sheet by the spoonful, like civilized cookies. I washed my hands carefully (YES, I washed them before I started, but since I was going to get them all in the dough I thought I’d better be extra clean).

It was a miracle! As I started to mush it around, it magically became cookie consistency. I was delighted and only wished I had gotten the cookie sheets out of the cupboard and sprayed with no-stick before I had gotten my hands all doughy. No matter.

I fear I was not consistent in the size of my little cookie balls, but I’m sure they’ll do. The recipe called for baking them 10 to 12 minutes; mine went the full twelve. My friend had put food coloring in some of his before baking and rolled them all in powdered sugar after baking, but I omitted these steps.

When they had cooled enough, I tasted one of the cookies. Yummy! It will take stern self-discipline on my part to make sure these cookies last long enough for me to share with people on my Christmas list. Hmmm…. perhaps I should not have written this blog post. Now all my friends and family will want cookies. I’m going to need more powdered sugar.

A Little Sunday Cooking

I decided to do a cooking post today. As regular readers know, this is far from a cooking blog, but sometimes I like to share my culinary adventures. For one reason, the joys of chopping and stirring are not to be denied. And for me the joy of anything is increased by writing about it.

I had some stew beef in the refrigerator I had meant to put in the crock pot. I decided to do something different and cook it in the oven, so I preheated that to 350 degrees, which I think is the most common cooking temperature. I peeled and crushed several cloves of garlic, setting the timer for 15 minutes (so it could “breathe” and reach its full health benefits).

While the garlic breathed I chopped an onion. I’m not sure of the cooking term for what I did (I did mention this is not a real cooking blog). It was more than sliced, less than diced. The pieces ended up looking like parentheses (how appropriate for me). I’m sure you know what I mean.

My next ingredient was a can of cream of mushroom soup. Real chefs (and authors of real cooking blogs) are shaking their heads in disapproval. Oh well, that little frisson of virtue you feel is my Christmas present to you. It was store brand, if that makes it any better or worse.

I added a little sweet-hot mustard. Full disclosure: it was one of those itty-bitty jars you get with a gift set and I wanted to use it up. Condiments last a long time, don’t they? There wasn’t a whole lot of that, but I put in a good splashing of Worcestershire sauce and a teeny titch of Tabasco (note to self: buy more Tabasco). I sprinkled a little cumin over that, largely because I accidentally bought an extra jar of it.

Whenever I use cream of mushroom soup I like to add a can of mushrooms, which I luckily had. That is something I try to always keep on hand but because I use a lot of it often run out. As I added the stew beef the timer for the garlic went off. I stirred everything in thoroughly and put it in the oven.

It is there now. When I stirred it earlier it smelled delicious. I suppose I ought to wait till we actually eat it to hit Publish, in case it sucks, but I think we can trust that everything will turn out fine. For one reason, I want to hit Publish and go back to enjoying my Sunday. Happy four days before Christmas, everybody!

Not a Saturday of Note

I had thought of running today, for a return of Saturday Running Commentary. First I walked with my dog Tabby to the post office, to mail some post cards. It was cold and there was much ice on the sidewalks. Of course I have run in the cold and will do so again. I have run on icy sidewalks, too. One runs carefully and takes detours into the road and snowy lawns when possible. But I didn’t do it today.

For one reason, I woke up with a headache. Well that’s no big deal. Coffee would probably help. I began to feel a bit ill-used, however, when my stomach started to feel nauseous after my perfectly innocent English muffin with peanut butter. I resolutely ignored these symptoms for our post office jaunt. I had my reward as the stomach felt better and the head felt not too bad.

As you may have noticed, this is gearing up to be another one of those posts about what I did (or didn’t do) today that I could have (or still might) write a post about. I like to do that kind of a post on a Saturday. Kind of an overview of my day. It’s not too much pressure to write, yet I am not whining about how I CAN’T write a post today (read that last bit in a squeaky, annoying tone).

I wanted to go to the Shopper’s Stroll in Herkimer, NY (where I live, in case you didn’t know). Last year I strolled down Main Street with Tabby while this was happening, but this year I thought I would leave her home. I wanted to go to the Herkimer County Historical Society and maybe stop at a couple of businesses. Perhaps Tabby and I could walk to Meyers Park a little later and see the horse drawn carriage rides and whatever else was going on down there.

I had a lovely visit to the historical society, which I would definitely like to write about a greater length (I MIGHT have purchased a couple of Christmas presents, but of course that would be a secret). I walked through Valley Exchange, because that is always a fun place look through. After that I realized I was feeling hungry and a bit headachey so went back home. I saw the horse drawn carriage as I went past Meyer’s Park, but alas, that was as close as I got today.

After Steven came home for his lunch and went back to work, I succumbed to that tradition dreaded by schoolchildren everywhere: being sick on vacation. I went to bed for a two hour nap. I’m feeling somewhat better now. And perhaps I’ll feel up to writing a better post tomorrow.

No Happy Hour, But Happy Dinner

In lieu of my usual Friday Lame Post, I thought I’d give a shout-out to a local business. We just had a lovely dinner thanks to Salvatore’s Pizzeria and Restaurant.

I had a shout-out to a different local business planned. Steven only worked till 4:30 this afternoon. Since I usually get home by four, I thought, “Perfect! We can meet at the Belly Up Pub for Happy Hour!” In fact, we would have been too early for Happy Hour, which begins at six most Fridays. However, I have a few half price drink coins, which I won in drawings at previous Happy Hours. Additionally, I had some stew beef I could put in the crock pot in the morning, so we could come home to a nice dinner after enjoying a couple of Happy Hour cocktails.

As it happened, I knew this morning I would probably be too tired for Happy Hour. Also, the stew beef had not thawed in the refrigerator. I know you can put frozen meat in the crock pot, but I was too tired and used the beef’s frozen state as an excuse.

“I’ll just cook the beef when I get home,” I told Steven, wondering even then if I would feel inclined to do such a thing.

Of course I did not. I don’t think Steven expected it either, because he almost immediately started talking about sending out for food. He had already decided a garlic pizza with sausage and green peppers sounded good. It sounded good to me, too. I further suggested an antipasto salad, and Steven got on the phone to Salvatore’s.

The meal arrived promptly and was delicious. I said, “I’m going to write my blog post about this!” And I’m sure we’ll make it to the Belly Up Pub for a cocktail one day soon.

Salavatore’s is located at 650 1/2 W. German St., Herkimer, phone 315-866-2600. Their website is www.salvatores-herkimer.com. The Belly Up Pub is at 122 W. Albany St., phone 315-219-5578, website www.bellyuppub.com. Both businesses are also on Facebook.

And Now We’re Watching a Christmas Special

Well, here we go again on Non-Sequitur Thursday, I sit down late at my computer and try to come up with something not too contemptible to publish. In my defense, I was busy. Steven and I wanted to attend the monthly dinner meeting of Ilion Little Theatre. He worked till six. I got home just before four.

I made a dish to pass at the meeting (chips and dip, but it was homemade dip), walked my dog Tabby to Steven’s place of employment to get his car, drove it home, changed into nice clothes (Christmasy clothes), got together plates and silverware, put stuff in the car, drove back to meet Steven at six. Oh, and found time for a short game of That’s My Toy with Tabby. I know, other people have more to do and still manage to make credible blog posts. Bully for them. I’m talking about me.

In fact, I wrote a blog post while at work today. It was not easy, because we were having something of a Christmas celebration during our breaks. This involved eating a lot of fattening food. I had to tear myself away from pizza and wings, but I did it. I wrote about Christmas memories. It wasn’t very good. I shall not inflict it upon you.

Our meeting was fun. It was the Christmas meeting, which is always more of a party than a meeting. I’m down with that. I suppose it would be a good idea to write about that. For one thing, I could give an update on the play I’m in (I believe I’ve mentioned it once or twice). That will be a good thing for me to write about tomorrow.

However, as I said, today is Non-Sequitur Thursday. I just have to think of a title that doesn’t quite fit the post, and I’m done. Hope to see you on Friday.

Props or Post?

It’s going to be post. A real Wuss-out Wednesday post, in fact. For one reason, I’m too flustered to do anything but sit here and type a few words. Sorry, kids, but you know this usually happens on Wednesday (and other days, you don’t have to point that out) (you know who you are).

I have mentioned I am in a play at Ilion Little Theatre. It’s called Busybody, and I have a sizable role. We have rehearsal tonight. At our last rehearsal, two nights ago, I made a big deal about needing rehearsal props and said I was going to bring in a bunch of stuff for my character. I wasn’t trying to be more actressy than thou. It’s just really hard for me to pantomime and not have magically disappearing whatever.

Last night was the only night I didn’t have any place to go in the evening. I had a list of things to get done, one of which was to gather props. Long story short, I did one thing on the list and that wasn’t it. In my defense, what I did was pretty important. I made White Trash to contribute to my workplace Christmas feast on Thursday. It is important to me to participate in these things. And many people like to eat White Trash.

Full disclosure: when I got home from work today I had enough time to look for props. And I had time while on breaks at work to write a better blog post than the one you’re now reading (oh, I hope somebody is reading it).

Unfortunately, I had a bad headache most of the day. It had dissipated by the end of the day, but I still felt all vague-headed and stupid when I got home. And I still had things I had to do. I had to take my dog for a walk and figure out what to wear to rehearsal. The latter was not as easy as one would think. For one reason, there is a part in the play where I have to shove a piece of paper down my front. This is not so easy to do in a turtleneck, as I discovered at the last rehearsal.

Wait a minute, I just realized something: the piece of paper I have to hide in my shirt is one of the props I had meant to gather. So by taking the time to go through my closet and find a shirt I could hide a piece of paper down, I lacked time to find the paper to hide. It was a lose/lose situation! Had I just worn the damn turtleneck, I would have had time to find the paper to hide but been unable to practice hiding it.

I know, some of you are snorting that a piece of paper is hardly a difficult prop to find. You’re right. I can probably manage that one. Anyways, while I was writing this nonsense, time has passed and I really have to finish getting ready to head out for my rehearsal. On the brighter side (for me, anyways), now this is done. I can hit Publish and not have to worry about this after rehearsal.

One final note: My Freudian slip was showing just now: I accidentally typed a space between Pub and lish. That’s right, folks, all things considered, I would rather just hit the pub.

A Christmas Present I Once Bought

Yesterday I wrote about how I could not seem to write about a Christmas memory, because I got all bogged down in talking about how broke I was. Today I cut out all that stuff as well as a couple of paragraphs about some other presents I bought that year. Here is my story about a Christmas present I once bought.

So there I was with not much money to purchase Christmas presents. It was the early ’80s, later than five-and-dime stores but before Dollar Stores were ubiquitous. I was walking through Riverside Mall in North Utica with my sister Diane. I lacked a present for my sister Cheryl. A housewares place had a display of odd lot silverware out front, 50 cents a piece.

“I’ll get Cheryl a fork,” I said, just only kidding. Cheryl had just moved into an apartment of her own.

“That would be a good present,” Diane said, “because when I ate over there we used plastic forks.”

Of course my parents got Cheryl a full set of silverware, so I felt I had been properly cast into the shade. However, Cheryl was quite pleased with her gift. As she left our parents’ house Christmas evening, she said, “I’m going to go home and eat something with my new fork.”

I wonder if she still has it.

More Writing About Not Writing

Well, it is not yet Tired Tuesday it is no longer Wrist to Forehead Sunday, yet I feel I qualify for both of those days. The annoying thing is that I did so write while at work today. I wrote at least a page before my shift started then a few paragraphs more at lunch time. I felt it was not contemptible. And yet. And yet.

What I really feel moved to write right now is an explanation of why I am not publishing what I wrote earlier yet. We’ll call it a Middle-aged Musings Monday and that will make everything OK (I do like giving things names) (I’ll write a blog post abut that one day).

After writing about Steven’s first Christmas gift to me (yesterday’s post), I thought it might be fun to do a week of Christmas memories. By age 51, I have quite a few. I have even been thinking about one particular Christmas lately. The reason I have been thinking about it is that I was broke then and I am broke now. I quite naturally began my post with that thought.

After a sentence or three I thought, “Somebody is going to tell me to stop whining.” You can’t tell tone of voice from typing. I felt I was being matter-of-fact about things, but no doubt some readers would hear whining. I wrote a few more sentences trying to dispel any notion that I am not facing my circumstances with cheerfulness, fortitude and a sense of humor (I’m not, really, I daresay I do whine, but wouldn’t it be nice if I did have cheeriness, etc.?).

Then I started to ask myself, am I even that broke? After all, I still have cable television and the occasional bottle of wine. I haven’t started stealing the dog’s food nor even applied for SNAP benefits. These reflections led to some half-baked philosophy about people crying poverty when the rest of us see none. This was not a Christmas memory! What the hell, Mohawk Valley Girl? So I skipped a line and jumped into the story I had intended to write, trusting to be able to clean it up later.

By the end of the day, I felt dissatisfied with what I had written. I felt certain there was a better blog post about that Christmas. And perhaps a Lame Post Friday post about comparative poverty or cheerfulness and fortitude. After work as I walked my dog, Tabby, I pondered my options, bearing in mind that I have rehearsal tonight and I was feeling more and more tired. I thought about writing about the walk I was taking. Then I thought about writing about why I could not publish the post originally intended.

And reading back over what I have written (I know, Truman Capote, it isn’t writing, it’s typing), I kind of like it. I will strive to be a little less tired on Tuesday.

It Wasn’t a BB Gun

In lieu of my usual Wrist to Forehead Sunday, I offer a personal Christmas Story (I was going to say a story about a Christmas present from my past, but I thought that might be getting too cute) (but that I could get away with it in a parenthetical comment).

I thought of the story after reading another blog post (once again procrastinating writing my own blog by reading others’). The blog was Return of the Modern Philosopher. The post was about buying the perfect present for a girlfriend. This is the story of the first Christmas present my husband Steven gave me.

We had just barely kind of sort of started dating in late November. In fact Steven went home for Christmas and said to his mother (as he told me later), “I think I have a girlfriend.” In the meantime I was saying to my friends, “He’s NOT my boyfriend,” largely because I did not want to jinx it (I never had many boyfriends, despite being quite the looker in those days) (no, really, I was cute, and I wore really short mini-skirts).

Steven was going to school at the time and had a couple of papers due. I remind you that these were the days before computers were common equipment for these things, so I offered to type them for him. I love to type. We arranged that he would drop them off at my apartment while I was at work. This was a new apartment I had just moved into, living alone for the first time. In fact, I was not even fully furnished.

I had told Steven the story of how I had a craving for tuna noodle casserole (my dietary needs were simple in those days). After working till nine, I walked to the grocery store and purchased the ingredients, then eagerly walked home only to find… I did not have a can-opener. I ate noodles and butter instead. It was a funnier story when I told it. I used gestures.

You probably all know where this is going. Steven dropped his papers off to me at work with a cute, self-deprecating smile, telling me he had “put a little something” in with them. Yes, it was a can-opener.

I have told that can-opener story for years. I now have a sneaking suspicion it is a funnier story when I told it. I must have used gestures.

However, it is Wrist to Forehead Sunday. Now I can go back finishing out my weekend with my wrist properly on my forehead saying, “My blog post wasn’t very funny today!”

Mohawk Valley Girl, Canine Rescuer

So there I was, not many ideas of what to write a blog post about and feeling rather poopy in general, so I decided to take Tabby for a walk. I thought at least it would improve my disposition; walking usually does, especially with Tabby. And I might be able to write a blog post about it. The walk itself was fairly uneventful, till the very end.

Just to set the scene, it was about 4 p.m., the sun soon to go down, the sky white-grey, the air cool. It wasn’t as cold as this morning, luckily, because there was not much wind. It had been warm earlier, so some of the snow had melted to gushy mush on the streets and sidewalk. Wet had seeped in through my sneakers. After a while I felt light, feathery precipitation on my face.

As we were getting back to our house, we saw a little brown and white dog running down the street. He had a collar but no leash and no person in sight. Oh dear! I called to him but got no response. What to do? Call dog control? Do I have their number? Call the cops and ask for dog control’s number? The dog started running down the middle of the street. This was not good.

I put Tabby in the house, pausing to wipe her paws (in case she’d picked up some rock salt on our walk; can’t be too careful), grabbed a few treats, and went back out to find the little guy. He was way down the street. Two cars came along but luckily didn’t hit him. He started back towards me then turned down Church Street. I ran to the corner and after him, being careful not to slip on the slush and land on my tush (hey, that rhymed).

The dog was at least half a block ahead of me. I slowed to a walk so as not to scare him. I tried calling to him and holding out a treat. He was having none of it. He turned down Prospect. I was gaining on him, alternating running and walking as indeed he was. At last I caught up, but he did not seem interested in the treat. I persisted, talking nicely to him and hoping he would decide to like me.

A fellow on a bicycle across the street called to me that there was a car coming up behind me. I couldn’t be bothered with cars. That car could just hit the brakes, couldn’t he? But one can’t count on cars doing these things for cute little dogs. The situation was desperate. I scooped up the pooch. He was not happy about it. I hoped he wouldn’t bite me.

“Help!” I called. “It’s not my dog,” I explained. “He was running down the street and I didn’t want him to get run over. Now I’m scaring him to death!”

The bicycle fellow’s house was nearby. He called me over and went to the door and asked someone inside for a phone. I could feel the poor dog’s heart beating. I didn’t know what to do. Bike guy said he would take the dog in but was afraid his dogs would not like it. I didn’t think I could carry doggy all the way home with him being so upset. Finally I asked could I borrow a leash just to get him home.

“I can bring it back later,” I said. He said why didn’t he just follow me home and get it. Good idea.

The dog was OK once he was on the leash. He trotted along nicely, stopping to sniff things as dogs like to do. As we walked up Bellinger, my new friend said, “We may have found his owner.” A lady at the end of the street seemed to be calling for a dog. He rode ahead to see. It was our lost friend’s person!

“Oh, thank God!” I said as she hurried down the street to scoop him up.

“He got off his leash,” she said. “I’ve had him fifteen years! Thank you!” she added to both of us.

“We’re dog rescuers,” I said to the bicycle guy, handing him his leash. “Thank you!”

We wished each other a Merry Christmas as went our separate ways. Tabby was happy to see me, if a little confused. I realized I was silly running off on my own for a rescue. If I had brought Tabby, that dog probably would have come right to us. After all, boy dogs usually want Tabby to be their girlfriend.

So that was my adventure, complete with happy ending.