Tag Archives: wrist to forehead

Wrist to Turkey Neck

As usual, it is Wrist to Forehead Sunday. It’s not that I want to add to the litany of griping about the cold, but… damn!

I am cooking the turkey I purchased yesterday, in order to run the oven and thus render my house warmer. It is working nicely and smells pretty good too. It was a bit of a process getting it into the oven, as often happens with me.

To begin with, of course I did not plan ahead and thaw the damn thing in the fridge for two or three days. I had it in cold water in my sink all yesterday afternoon and evening. I set the timer and was pretty vigilant about changing the water every half hour, so I felt safe in doing this. By ten o’clock, I thought the bird was on its way to thawdom, so put it in the fridge overnight.

This morning I discovered that it was no such thing. The center was still frozen. I still was not too worried, because yesterday, when I was consulting the marginally helpful Internet for thawing tips, I had discovered that it is not a bad thing to cook a turkey from frozen. Then I thought I had remembered that you aren’t really supposed to rinse the bird, as I have always done and indeed as the plastic wrap said to do. Back to the Internet.

OK, don’t thaw, but take the giblets and neck out. I know a friend of mine once left the giblets inside the bird, still in the little bag, because she didn’t stuff the bird and didn’t know about the giblets (it was her first turkey), so I was not too worried. But I thought the neck might better come out. It was frozen in there. Damn.

I’ll just add than when I search the Internet I usually go to a site called GoodSearch, www.goodsearch.com, because it seems they donate money to charity (should I have mentioned that when I first mentioned searching the Internet? Should I not already know that, seeing as I have been writing for many years? Oh, it IS Wrist to Forehead Sunday).

The sites I was directed to said it was OK to leave the giblets in, as long as they were not in a plastic bag. Well how was I supposed to know if they were in a plastic bag if they were still inside the turkey? Back to the bird. At last I found the giblets in the neck cavity (the irony is not lost on me that the giblets were in the neck end while the neck is stuck up the butt). Not a plastic bag, but I took them out and put them in the pan as I usually do.

I didn’t mind the neck still being in the bird, because I knew it wasn’t in a bag, but there was a plastic doodah I thought I should remove and that was stuck good. Consulting my Goodsearch sources, I was delighted to find a place where the question was not only asked, they referred to it as a “plastic thingy.” Unfortunately, the answers were contradictory.

At last I resorted to rinsing the damn turkey. After all, every other turkey I have ever cooked I have rinsed and I’m not dead of turkey poisoning yet. But how annoying, as rinsing the bird has always been my least favorite part of cooking a turkey (there is that bad moment when it feels like a body, which in fact it is, but I prefer to gloss over my own carnivorousness). And the neck still would not come out.

Finally I said to hell with it and put the turkey in the oven, which by now was plenty pre-heated (although some sources say that if you are cooking something for more than an hour you do not have to pre-heat the oven. I must say the last thing I felt like at that point was to write a blog post about the ordeal. However, that was three hours ago, and now that I have actually written the blog post, I feel much better about everything.

The Last Pre-Show Post

Under the best of circumstances I often have a Wrist to Forehead Sunday. Today I do not have the best of circumstances. I have pretty damn good circumstances, I will admit. But they are not ideal for writing a wonderful blog post. For this I have my dithery self to blame (the computer seems to think “dithery” is not a word, but I believe it describes me accurately).

At 2 p.m. begins the closing performance of Busybody, the play I am in at Ilion Little Theatre. It’s always bittersweet when a play ends. How could it not be? For better or worse, this script and these people have been a huge part of your life for, in this case, over two months. For “Busybody” it has been for better. Delightful cast, humorous script, wonderful audiences, great director and awesome light/sound guy.

And I will admit, it is not just my appreciation of the others involved. It is my own petty ego gratification, because I have a big part and, dammit, I am doing a good job. OK, not a perfect job. Last night there was a (to me) painful pause in which I suddenly remembered that the next line was mine.

“Ow, I know!” I burst out, in my Cockney accent (that’s why it’s “Ow” instead of “Oh”), pretending that my character had just now had a clever thought. The moment passed. Nobody seemed to care.

Lame Post Friday is the day for half-baked philosophy, or I would ask myself why it is I feel quite sheepish in saying, “I’m doing a good job.” Can I not appreciate my own success? I think I have been pretty clear that it is part of a group effort and not my own wonderfulness carrying along everyone else willy-nilly. These are questions for another day.

For now I will continue to dither and panic (well, maybe not panic, but certainly get butterflies) about getting to the theatre, remembering props and costumes, not to mention lines. Oh yes, and once again I’ve forgotten to eat. That I can fix. Have a nice Sunday, everyone. I’m off to break a couple of legs.

Yes, I Am a Silly Blogger

I had thought to have Sunday Running Commentary. However, since it was 19 degrees out, I opted to run in place on the mini-tramp. It was not a particularly blogworthy activity (yes, computer, I know “blogworthy” is not a word, but it ought to be). While I ran, I watched a Hammer horror movie I had DVR’d back in October. Naturally I did not watch the whole movie. Perhaps someday when I am training for a marathon I shall be able to do such a thing. Today was not that day.

I suppose I am gearing up to Yet Another Post About Why I Can’t Write a Post Today. Some readers may be calling foul over that. After all, I had a Wrist to Forehead day yesterday. I had a Lame Post Friday and a Non-Sequitur Thursday. Oh yeah, and a Wuss-out Wednesday. Did I also wuss out on Tuesday? I don’t remember, and I am far too lazy to go back and check now. So you see.

“Yes, I see,” my reader is saying (that imaginary reader in my head who always says such things). “I see that you are too lazy be a real blogger! You bum!”

Can you believe this: my computer considers “blogger” to be a real word! But “blogworthy is not! What’s that all about, computer? Obviously blogworthy is a far superior and useful word. Blogger just sounds silly. Is that what I want to be? I guess I am silly. And so is my blog. I hope I still have some readers on Monday.

Not Whine, WINE

Sorry, kids, it’s Wrist to Forehead Saturday. I know, it’s supposed to be Saturday Running Commentary and Wrist to Forehead Sunday, but I worked this morning instead of going running. Wait a minute, that means Friday was not Friday but yet Saturday becomes Sunday? I make no sense.

The fact is, I feel that I am too cold to write a proper blog post. I have to laugh at myself because of that. I say to myself, Really? with that raised eyebrow look that puts a wealth of skepticism into that one word. Truly, I am too cold? What, I ask myself, what about all those blog posts I wrote all summer when I was too damn hot to write a proper blog post? Should it not follow that I can write MYRIAD blog posts when the mercury drops?

It behooves me now to link back to one of those posts, for newcomers to the blog who do not know how much Mohawk Valley Girl wilts under hot temperatures. Unfortunately, all I can think of is one titled “I’m Me-elting.” It is unfortunate because after complaining about being too hot, I go on to write a kind of a cooking post (regular readers know I am incapable of writing a real cooking post).

So, can I write a kind of a cooking post to save this post? In fact, I have some chicken wings in the oven. I love to cook things in the oven when it is cold out. It warms the house quite nicely. I put butter, honey and Dijon mustard on the wings. We will cook tater tots to go with them. I like to eat my tater tots with cottage cheese. No vegetable is planned. You may shake your finger at me if you are so inclined (or your head or your booty) (I know the song says “Shake your booty,” but I have always thought it should say “Shake your groove thing”).

By the way, I am cooking with wine.

Come to think of it, I am inclined to stop whining about how cold it is. I shall now sit on the couch and crochet, thus covering my legs with an unfinished afghan. Life, as they say, is good.

Still Keeping that Post-Christmas Letdown at Bay

Kind of a long headline, isn’t it? Who cares? (That was a rhetorical question, dafthead!)

I actually thought I felt the Post-Christmas Letdown encroaching earlier today. Steven and I were taking our lovely schnoodle Tabby for a walk (we usually say “perambulation” in case she recognizes “the W word” and gets all crazy before we’re ready to leave). I was noticing how many houses had their lights down and even their trees out waiting for garbage pick up.

It was a grey, gloomy day, which normally cheers me up somewhat (we all know I’m perverse; that does not need further comment). In fact, the walk was our second attempt, because the first attempt got rained out. The temperature was warmer when it started to rain, but I did not repine. We enjoyed our walk.

While we walked, we discussed our itinerary for the rest of the day. I have this thing that I like to go to Waterfront Grille in Herkimer, NY (you know, where we live), sit at the bar and order drinks and appetizers. We don’t often do this, but I thought, being he holidays and all… We were torn. After all, we had already watched one movie and had (have) many more to watch. There are also episodes of Castle and the Blacklist on DVR as well as of Snapped currently airing on Oxygen. There are sweats to put on and bras to take off, for heavens’ sake! What’s a girl to do? (I say “girl” instead of my usual “blogger,” because not all bloggers have bras to take off).

As we walked and debated, Steven at last said, “Well, if it’ll help you get over your post-Christmas letdown, let’s go.”

What can I say? The man is a genius and the best husband ever. We went and had a glass or two of wine and an excellent lunch. Now we are back at home, in sweats (one of us has our bra off, I think you know who) (and anybody who says TMI has earned my enmity), watching a Christmas movie (easing out of Christmas is another method for alleviating post-Christmas letdown), and I was kind of waiting for Wrist to Forehead Sunday to kick in. Incidentally, it hasn’t.

So, anyways, this is my blog post. Kind of slice of life, I guess. I’m in a dandy mood and hope you are too. May your post-Christmas be letdown free!

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.

Sunday Running Commentary

Instead of my usual Wrist to Forehead Sunday, I thought I’d try a Running Commentary. When I first got out of bed this morning I was completely disinclined to run. After some coffee and perusing the paper, I began to reconsider.

By this time I’d been up long enough to get hungry, so I thought I would eat a banana with peanut butter, wait for it to digest a little, then run. This also gave me time to watch one of our favorite shows, Mohawk Valley Living. It gave the temperature a chance to warm up a little too, although we didn’t start out as cold as we have been.

I normally run in shorts and t-shirt for anything over 45 degrees. My thermostat said 44, so I stretched a point. I had a bad moment when I put on my headband and found that my hair looked completely ridiculous. It is at that in-between stage: not long enough to do anything with, too long to do nothing about. Should I put on a hat, hiding the mop? Or just look ridiculous and say to hell with it? Then I asked myself, why was I even debating about it? Who cares what I look like when I run?

The morning was grey and gloomy, which suited me fine. Sidewalks were wet but not icy or snowy, and not too many puddles. It was after 8:30 when I set out, but traffic was OK. Early lasts later on Sunday than it does on Saturday, if you see what I mean.

I headed towards Valley Health, to run the hill by it. I must build back up to the hill to Herkimer County Community College, but these things don’t happen all in a day, or even in a week. I sternly told myself that they don’t happen at all if one continues to take four days off between runs. I had good reasons for not running those days, I argued, but I wasn’t buying it. If only guilt burned calories.

That hill was not fun. Yesterday when walking uphill I had observed that I like to walk uphill. Not too long a hill or too steep a hill, but a certain amount of hill is good when walking. I wished I was walking but continued to run. This would work. I could hang.

I felt better after the downhill and back on level ground. I realized my lungs were not happy, but my legs could totally rock this. One can’t have everything after all. I concentrated on feeling happy that at least part of me was rocking it.

I got tired earlier into the run than I expected to. It wasn’t any specific part of me that felt bad, just an overall tiredness. Yesterday when I was greatly enjoying my walk with Tabby, I had thought how blessed I was to love things. I love to walk, I love to write, I love to run, I said to myself. I asked myself this morning, was I loving this run? Um, no. But I wasn’t hating it, so that was something.

To further enjoy my run I made a conscious effort to look around at houses. One porch railing still sported black garland with skulls. Nice. One house looked abandoned. Not so good. That one had new-looking siding and porch. Nice again. That large house was crying out for a new paint job. Wait a minute, was it really crying? No, it stood there with dignity. “This is me. Take it or leave it.” Good house. I guess I get a little fanciful.

I ran for 26 minutes, which I consider respectable. There is no hurry to improve. Maintaining is good. After all, I’m not a world-class athlete training for a nationally televised event. I’m just a middle-aged lady exercising for my health, entertainment, and perhaps a blog post.

How Do You Spell “Get My Act Together”?

I may institute a new feature: Panic Button Day. That is when I have something to do in the evening, several things to get done before that, and no blog post written. Why, oh why did I not write something on break at work? Well, I tried. All I could manage was a letter to my sister, in which I lamented that I couldn’t think of anything to write a blog post about.

My event of the evening is the monthly dinner meeting of Ilion Little Theatre. That is a bonafide Mohawk Valley adventure, which I could in fact write about after I go there. But I’ll be tired by then. And the dinner is BYOB and, well, I thought I would. Never drink and type. You make a lot of typos that way.

A pause while I look up “bonafide.” I have a big red Random House Webster’s College Dictionary that was given to me by a friend many years ago. It is invaluable at times like these. My computer is highly unreliable. For example, the dictionary says it’s “bona fide” or “bonafide.” My computer underlines both versions. Quite frankly, I don’t think technology is all it’s cracked up to be.

I still have to figure out what to wear to my meeting. This makes it a bonafide wrist-to-forehead occasion (I went to the trouble of looking it up, I thought I’d use it again). As usual, I am dreadfully sorry about not having a real post. But perhaps it will amuse my readers to laugh at my haplessness (not going to look up that one).

A Wednesday Kvetch

It never fails: I avoid a Tired Tuesday only to run smack dab into a Wuss-out Wednesday. What, oh what is my problem?

Did anybody answer that or did everybody accept it as a rhetorical question or perhaps an unanswerable lament. Or perhaps you took it as more kvetching, perhaps with my wrist on my forehead (I can be very self-dramatizing). Whatever, it is clear that I have a problem. I have fatigue, aches, pains, blues, etc. Could this be middle age? Say it ain’t so!

I went running yesterday. In addition to wanting to build up my run time and progress toward my weight-loss goals, I thought it would make a good blog post. And it may have, if only I would have written it. I took my dog Tabby for a walk today, another potential blog topic. One reason I mention these things is to show you that I am so active. So if anybody was gearing up to say, “Well if you got more EXERCISE, you’d have more ENERGY,” they don’t have to bother. There’s always someone.

And speaking of middle age, can I just ask, where’s menopause when you need it? It’s getting cold in the Mohawk Valley these days. I could use one of them there hot flashes.

I guess there is no point to this post, although I am glad I got to sneak in my hot flash line.

My Wrist Has Been Busy

So there I was about to write my Wrist to Forehead Sunday post, when my husband, Steven, told me of his plan to rake the front lawn. He nicely said I did not have to help, despite my natural feelings of guilt. I thought, Ah! I will write a Wrist to Forehead post about feeling guilty while he is doing that, then he can get right on the computer when he is done (he was working earlier in the day while I was… not).

Then a friend of his called on the phone and he was talking to her. Tabby and I went outside and I started raking. I am not a completely useless wife. Steven came out and worked too. I kept saying, “I’ll go in now and do my blog post while you finish this,” then deciding to do just one more thing.

At last I came inside while Steven was still outside. Oh, I would just put away the dishes I washed earlier (I am famous for washing dishes, leaving them to air dry and further leaving them for Steven to put away). Then I started thinking about how I had not yet showered for the day, and I got this tantalizing mental image of taking a hot shower and putting on some cuddly, brand-clean sweats and THEN getting on the computer. Maybe with a glass of wine.

By the time I was clean and cuddly, Steven was inside, but nicely got me a glass of wine and let me get on the computer (did mention that I have a very nice husband? Well I do). BUT first I had to check my Facebook notifications. When I finally logged onto WordPress, blogs I follow popped up. Since I was about to write a Wrist to Forehead post without feeling particularly Wrist to Forehead-y (Hello! Hot shower, cuddly sweats, would you feel like putting your wrist to your forehead?), I stalled by reading Return of the Modern Philosopher, one of my favorites.

And then I just had to comment. My comments tend to get a little long-winded, so then I had to edit.
Then I read Modern Philosopher’s post to Steven. Before I got to read him my comment (which after reading the post again I again had to edit), he said, “I want more wine!” Could he be feeling wrist to foreheady because I am hogging the computer?

And now I have to check if the Modern Philosopher replied while I was typing all this, before I hit publish.

Yes, he did respond, and I responded to his response. I wonder if my poor husband will ever be able to get on the computer.