Category Archives: humor

New 2 Me

I love consignment shops almost as much as I love rummage sales and thrift stores. They are a step classier, so I don’t know what that says about me and my trashy mentality (I love that country song about “I like my women just a little on the trashy side”).

Steven actually discovered New 2 You Consignments a few weeks ago when he was looking for Dr. Henry’s office for his eye appointment. We sometimes get a little confused in Ilion. Steven went into the store and got directions. The ladies there were so nice about it that he went back after his appointment to shop. He purchased a lovely glass snowman ornament and two books for me (one was 1001 Wines You Must Taste Before You Die; if I did all that I could blog exclusively about wine till my liver gave out).

Saturday we made our way to 10 Central Plaza, Ilion, NY. A sign in the window touts the environmental benefits of buying second hand, so that gave me a virtuous feeling to start with. Spending money at a local business will boost the local economy, so I had that going for me, too.

New 2 You is a classy place with a variety of items tastefully displayed. I looked at clothes, but I want to lose 10 more pounds before I invest in that. There were a couple of vintage coats I envied, but I have plenty of coats (you can buy a bigger coat and not feel bad when you’re fat). There were some lovely glasses too, another thing we have plenty of. I made my way to the books.

One might think I have plenty of books, but you know, I don’t think there is such a thing. They had a nice selection. The one that caught my eye was a paperback called Stories of Suspense. It looked old, so I pulled it out to see if it had a pulp fiction cover such as I love. Not a bad cover. As I debated I saw, “Including Daphne duMaurier’s THE BIRDS.”

I almost jumped for joy. Steven and I pop in Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds on many occasions. I would not call it one of Hitchcock’s finest, but it’s such fun. We always wondered how much the movie differed from the short story but have never been able to find the story. I was so excited.

It came to $1.08 with the tax. I had just pulled all the change out of my purse, so the lady at the register nicely took eight pennies out of the “leave a penny” jar. I must remember to leave some pennies when I return.

And I certainly will return. After all, $1 doesn’t do a whole lot to stimulate the local economy. For more information about New 2 You Consignments, call 315-894-2220.

Souped Up Sunday

I had been meaning to make Italian Wedding Soup for some time. Sunday I finally got around to it.

I started by chopping a yellow onion and putting it in a pot with olive oil under what I thought was low heat. I cracked the lid. The pot used to be my Mom’s. She’d had it for as long as I can remember before she gave it to me. My sister Victoria calls it a Dutch Oven, but I’m not sure if it technically is one. In any case, it is a good big pot, and I use it all the time.

A watched pot may never boil, but unwatched onions will burn. I guess I lost track of time, because I usually check on these things (I think I was writing a letter to my sister Victoria at the time). I did not go back into the kitchen till I heard the onions making popping noises. Yikes!

I turned off the heat. I took the pot off the burner. I removed the lid. I stirred the onions, which were now in varying shades from onion-colored to black. They continued to sizzle in what I thought was a rather insolent fashion.

Now what to do? Chop more onions? Use the burnt ones? I took my dog Tabby for a walk while I pondered the question. When I returned I peeled some garlic, ran it through the garlic press and set the timer for 15 minutes. I forget why, but I heard you are supposed to let garlic sit for 15 minutes before using it. This gave me a little more time to think about the onions. After all, Sunday was cold; we had not taken that long of a walk.

I decided to use the onions. I poured in two cans of low sodium chicken broth and some water. I put in the garlic and chopped some celery. I preheated the oven to cook the meatballs. I used the frozen kind. Don’t judge.

While the meatballs baked, I peeled and chopped a carrot. I don’t like cooked carrots much, but Steven does. They add a little color and flavor, and of course they are good for you. A woman my age has to look out for her health. By adding the carrots later, I reasoned, they won’t be as mushy (my main objection to cooked carrots), at least the first time we eat the soup. They’ll soften with re-heating, but I’ll have to live with that.

I put the pasta (you know those little beady ones you use for Italian Wedding Soup) in shortly before the meatballs were ready. They were in a canister, not their original box, and naturally I did not remember how long they needed to boil. I had to keep tasting them. That was not burdensome; the soup was turning out pretty good. I added basil, oregano and a few crushed red peppers for good measure. Then I put the meatballs in and let them all cook together.

It was yummy, even if I do say so myself. I think burnt onions are the Way to Go. Steven had bread and butter with his, eating Dilly Bread we had purchased at the Ilion Farmer’s Market on Saturday (just to add a little local color). Oh, I love to cook soup on a cold, cold day. Now I’m looking forward to leftovers.

Chinese Food NOW

Saturday Steven and I spent the morning cleaning the house with the intention of rewarding ourselves with lunch out.

I did munch a little cottage cheese for breakfast — I don’t do well on a completely empty stomach — and soon realized I should have eaten a little more heartily. I was STARVING. I know, people in this country throw that word “starving” around like we know what it means, when, of course, most of us have never experienced that level of poverty. What I meant was I was dreadfully, uncomfortably hungry and I wanted food NOW.

What I really could have used was one of those Mexican restaurants where they bring you chips and salsa right away. In Georgia there were several of those, handily located. In the North Country we had the awesome Hotel Grande. Perhaps there is such an establishment in Utica. I’ll have to check around.

Be that as it may, I suggested our best bet was a buffet. Less waiting. We decided on the Main Moon Buffet, 40 Central Plaza, Ilion, NY (do I really need to put NY? I don’t know how many out of state readers I have).

Buffet is my favorite way to eat Chinese food, because you can try a little of everything. There are many good things to try at Main Moon. Two plates full — OK, one plate really full and one partial — and I still have not tried everything. We both left the restaurant quite full. Note to self: try not to eat so damn much next time.

Main Moon Buffet is open Monday through Thursday from 11 am to 10:30 pm, Friday and Saturday 11 am to 11:30 pm, and Sunday noon to 10 pm. For more information call 315-895-7404 or 315-895-7405. Take out is also available. Hmm, might keep me from eating too damn much, but then how could I try everything? It’s not easy being me.

A Fishy Cooking Post

We had planned to cook fish when Steven came home Friday, so I made tartar sauce.

Many years ago, my mother taught me to make tartar sauce by chopping up a dill pickle and mixing it with mayonnaise. I haven’t bought tartar sauce since. After tasting some fancy tartar sauces at various restaurants, I have modified my recipe.

Friday I found the jar of dill pickles in the fridge and was a little sorry they were not farmer’s market dill pickles. Perhaps I will make my way to Clapsaddle Farm for the Ilion Farmer’s Market and get something more distinctive for next time.

I poured myself a glass of Salneval Albarino (there should be a tilde on the n — All-Bar-een-yo — but I don’t know how to do that on my computer), because I like cooking with wine, pulled out the glass cutting board Steven gave me for my birthday, and commenced to chopping.

As usual I had trouble with it. Pickles are not as firm for chopping as non-pickled vegetables, and I think my knives need sharpening. Also, for tarter sauce I like my pickles finely minced, that is, more minced than I usually accomplish. And it just now occurs to me, I’m saying chopped when I really mean minced. If this were a real cooking blog, I would never make such a blunder. Actually, I think it is accurate to say I wanted minced pickle, but settled for chopped because mincing was too damn much trouble.

Anyways, I chopped one pickle, added it into the mayonnaise I had spooned into the container, and wondered if I could put enough other stuff in to make up for there being not enough pickle. Then I told myself to stop being so lazy and cut up another pickle.

When I had really really had enough of messing with the pickles, I added horse radish, lemon pepper, Pampered Chef All Purpose Dill Mix, McCormick’s Perfect Pinch Salt Free, minced onion (dried minced onion in the bottle; I didn’t cut onion as well as pickle), and stirred well.

The flavors had plenty of time to blend, because Steven was working a half hour later than I had thought. Damn! I was hungry! Oh well, they do say hunger is the best seasoning. The tartar sauce did taste good when I finally ate it. I was almost too impatient to wait for the fish.

Bear with Me

This has been a kind of a Week of Lame. I even called a post Mid-Week Lame, and, come on, a post about my drive into work? But now it’s Friday when I’m allowed to be lame. Some might argue that I have used up my weekly allotment. To that person, I would explain, “Shut up” (with thanks to SJ Perelman and if you don’t know that one, ask me and I will give you a polite explanation).

Wow, it’s easy to write! Look how much I just now sat down and wrote. Why do I sometimes have problems with these blog posts? But I digress.

I thought of the title “Bear with Me” earlier in the week when I had nary an idea for a blog post. Then I thought, “I could even say I saw a bear on the way home from work. Get it? Bear with me!” And that made me think of the Dr. Seuss book To Think that I Saw it on Mulberry Street.

“That’s the ticket,” I thought. “I can come up with all kinds of things. I’ll never lack a blog post again!”

Then I thought about how the story ended and I thought, “Never mind.” I won’t expound on that, though, in case you haven’t read the story. I wouldn’t want to spoil it for you. By the way, if you haven’t read it, what are you thinking? Get yourself to your local library and read every Dr. Seuss story they have. You won’t be sorry.

I can talk about how the story begins. The narrator, walking home from school, observes a not very exciting horse and wagon on Mulberry Street. Well, here is where I differ from that young man. I think a horse and wagon is a fine thing to notice and talk about, even if you might see one every day (not so usual these days, of course, although I do see the occasional Amish buggy). Or for example a pick up truck and little red car, which I in fact did talk about yesterday.

So no bears on the way home. I believe they are not indigenous to the Mohawk Valley. No horse and wagon either, nor yet an Amish buggy. In other words, I’m low on random observations. What’s the other component of Lame Post Friday? Ah yes, half baked philosophy. Well, I think I covered that with my contention that a plain horse and wagon is a fine thing to blog about.

I think that’s that. As soon as I type this in and hit “publish,” it’s wine o’clock. Happy Friday, everyone.

I Waited Five Minutes

How about that Mohawk Valley weather we’ve had lately? (Um, you do get the headline, right? If you don’t like the weather, wait five minutes)

That’s not such a lame comment as I was thinking (check with me tomorrow for Lame Post Friday, of course). The weather guy on WKTV this morning said we had “lots of weather” going on today. That struck me as kind of funny. I mean, good or bad, active or quiet, it’s always weather outside. I didn’t think a meteorologist would think of it in terms of different amounts.

Many of us have been loving this winter. Snowmobilers, skiers, people who make money plowing snow, etc…. not so much. Sorry, guys. For someone with a bad back, a husband with a worse back, and a second hand snow blower we have never gotten to work, I’m grateful for the relative lack of snow. Oh well, whatever happens, somebody’s going to be happy, somebody else not. My turn for happy. Yay me (Ooh, was that half baked philosophy? I’m sorry, that should have gone on Lame Post Friday).

This morning we got some authentic winter. There were even a few school delays, although not in our immediate vicinity. Apparently things were not so bad in the valley, but terrible in other places.

So I got ready early, figuring I’d have to scrape and drive to work slowly. And the fewer cars in the parking lot when I got there the happier I’d be. Steven actually went out to scrape for me, but it turned out not to be necessary. When I stepped outside it was regular rain, not freezing. A welcome anti-climax. There was slushy snow on the driveway and road. I backed out with caution, figuring there might still be slippery on the road’s surface.

Indeed there was. I almost fishtailed. Better get some weight into the back of my truck (maybe it would have helped if I would NOT have gone on the South Beach Diet). Not much traffic was on the road, but a pick up truck was coming up Caroline as I got to the three way stop. I was already at the stop sign, so clearly I should go; I just hoped the guy was turning the other way. Headlights behind me soon dashed that hope. I continued down German, trying to strike the balance between safe and not slow enough to piss people off. I hate to piss people off. Then I said, “To hell with it, safe is better, they can pass me on the highway.” Which they did. That was when I saw that it was a little red car, not the pick up truck I had seen on Caroline. How the hell did that happen? Then again, it wouldn’t do to spend too much time gazing into my rear view mirror to keep track of these things.

I made it to work without further incident and parked in the snow covered parking lot. I pulled in carefully parallel to another car, since the lines were hidden. Imagine my chagrin when I left this afternoon and discovered I was by no means parallel to the painted lines. All the surrounding vehicles were gone, too, so it looked as if I’d just parked like an asshole. I can only hope my co-workers understood.

So that’s my weather story for the day. I guess my driving story too. I hope this weekend to get out and do some real Mohawk Valley stuff to blog about. In the meantime, though, I’m off the hook, because tomorrow is Lame Post Friday. Woo hoo!

The Cake Incident

I don’t usually blog about work, but something happened the other day that I said would make a good blog post. You be the judge.

A nice lady that works in the same vicinity I work in (it’s a BIG factory) makes cakes sometimes, usually for people’s birthdays. Monday she made a red velvet cake with white frosting in honor of some people that were leaving her section.

There was some discussion as to what made the cake red, one pundit maintaining that it was actual red velvet.

“Yes,” I said, “and now Joanie doesn’t have a dress to wear to holiday parties.”

As she was cutting it, I told her not to cut me a piece.

“Oh, I wasn’t going to,” she said.

Now, we work in the same area and use the same break room, but we actually work in different departments and have different bosses, so I thought I had said something quite tactless. I must have had quite the look on my face, because the whole table cracked up laughing. Joan assured me she had just been kidding; I was welcome to some cake. I’m a few pounds up from the holidays, so I resisted the temptation.

There was still cake left at the afternoon break.

“Do you suppose there are more calories in a small piece of cake than in a chewy fiber bar?” I asked, a chewy fiber bar being my designated snack. Several people expressed the opinion that the chewy fiber bar probably had more calories, although I suspect they were being nice because they knew I wanted the cake.

“You should have the cake,” one fellow said. “You could die on the way home, and then you’ll wish you’d had the cake.”

“If I die on the way home,” I said, “I probably won’t be thinking about the cake; I’ll be thinking, ‘Dammit, I don’t want to die, I want to live!'”

He shook his head. “You’ll be looking at that tractor trailer coming towards you and you’ll say, ‘Why didn’t I have that cake?'”

I cut myself a small piece.

After a few minutes, I pointed out that the chewy fiber bar would have had the advantage of lasting longer. My co-workers helpfully pointed out the last piece of cake, repeating the advice about maybe I would die before morning.

I admit it, I ate the cake. It was yummy. Much yummier than the chewy fiber bar, which I ate the next day. Yes, as you have no doubt guessed, I did not die either on the way home nor during the night. I was even down a pound when I stepped on the scale the next morning. Let’s hear it for cake!

Mid-Week Lame

I’ve said that I don’t get Writer’s Block so much as Writer’s Blank. That is, I sit staring at the page or computer screen and think, “I got nuthin’.” Well, now I have something new and I don’t have a name for it.

I sit down and write a paragraph. Bing, no problem. Then I look at it and say, “That’s dumb. Nobody wants to read that. Erase that and write something else.”

This can go on for several paragraphs. Sometimes I erase it (or cross it out if I’m writing). Sometimes I let it stand, because if you read these things later, they often don’t look so bad.

The problem is, while it is standing there, I don’t feel like writing anything else. It’s like I just ate something that didn’t taste good and I don’t want to take another bite. If I erase it, I can usually write another paragraph which I immediately erase. I really don’t like doing that. Suppose the paragraph was perfectly all right? Now I’ll never know.

I must say, I’m not having a very good time writing this, and that is sad, because usually I enjoy the act of writing. Usually, once I get over the Blank and write a paragraph, I write another paragraph and so on till I have a blog post. Today I’m writing another paragraph and trying really really hard not to erase it.

Oh, it is a bad day for Mohawk Valley Girl.

I feel really bad making this post today (Tuesday) because I feel it is really lame, and we all know Friday is the day for lame posts. All I can do is (once again) apologize, and try again tomorrow. My reasoning (once again) is that if I’m going to make a blog post every day, some of them are bound to be lame.

Hit publish quick before I erase this whole thing!

Breakfast with the Elks

I had been looking forward to breakfast at the Elks Lodge in Herkimer since I saw it in the paper over a week ago. Sunday morning we headed to Mary Street with good appetites.

For the month of January the Lady Elks are holding Sunday breakfasts to raise money for various service projects. You can’t go wrong: good breakfast, good cause. We’ve gone the last couple of years, when we see it in the paper and neither one of us has to work.

We walked in, and I paid our $16 ($8 for adults, $4 for children). We also got $5 of 50/50 tickets (10 for $5). I put $1 in the tip basket, but said I’d put in more if the service was good. I said it in an “I’m obviously kidding” voice, and the one of the ladies said $1 was fine.

At a table just inside the door, two ladies filled out our order tickets: mine was scrambled eggs, no pancakes, whole wheat toast, bacon, baked beans, potatoes with onions. Steven got the same, only he took the pancakes and had his eggs over medium. He even got the onions on his potatoes, which he had been undecided about when we left the house. I had never had baked beans for breakfast before the Elks. It’s yummy!

As soon as we sat down, man brought us coffee and a lady offered us tomato or orange juice (I got tomato; Steven got orange). The coffee man asked could he borrow our ketchup for another table and would we need it back. I said I might. I called to the lady at the other table she could just keep hold of it and I’d come get it when I needed it, but she said that was OK. She’d just make the man get it for her again.

We saw and exchanged greeting with a few people we knew — another reason I love these community breakfasts. I also enjoy watching interactions of the people working the breakfast with patrons they know.

“She’s a sweetheart. I hate to say it when she can hear me,” was my favorite overheard line.

When we left, Steven put $4 more in the tip basket. I had said we should put in $3 more, because $4 is typically what we tip a breakfast waitress or waiter, but I agreed with Steven that the extra dollar was appropriate.

The breakfasts are every Sunday in January. I told the ladies as we left we might be back next Sunday. They said they’d see us then.

A Lovely Lunch

When I used to work retail hours, one of my most hated shifts was 1 to 9:30 p.m. See, I like to get up, go to work, then come home and enjoy myself and/or do something useful. Time before work is, to me, just more time to say, “Oh crap, I have to go to work.” I used to ease the pain sometimes by treating myself to lunch. I would often write a letter while I ate. So Saturday, when I had a letter to write, I thought I would treat myself to lunch and write it.

Steven was at work. I had a house to clean and a dog to walk. I had one errand to run and reason to move my truck out of the driveway. I got the dog walked. I stared at the dirty house. I remembered that I wanted to run to the bank and move my truck into the street. I thought about my earlier resolve to write a letter. Do you really need me to tell you the house is still dirty?

I ended up at Brian’s Roast Beef Deli, 122 N. Main St., Herkimer. When I sat down the waitress asked me if it was lunch for one or two.

“Just me today,” I said.

“But there’s usually two of you, right?”

“Yes, my hubby is usually with me, but he’s at work today.”

“See, I pay attention,” the waitress said. It was really pretty good of her, because it’s been a while since Steven and I ate there. Some of our local eateries have a very attentive wait staff.

I ordered garlic boneless chicken wings and a side of macaroni and cheese. Side, indeed! It was a great big bowl! Yummy! The wings came with celery and bleu cheese. It was a great lunch, and I brought home leftovers.

Of course I had brought my notebook (remember my resolve to write a letter?). It was open to the novel I’m working on. As I sat there I realized what should come next. In short, the letter is still not written but I got a whole page done on the novel. Woo hoo!

I did a couple of other things with my Saturday, one of which was a true Mohawk Valley Girl activity. But I enjoyed my lunch and thought I’d write about that. I was about to say “I thought I’d share,” but sorry, guys, those boneless wings and mac and cheese were mine!