it may be time...

...to reconsider something that you have always held to be a concrete truth. Here's one for you to ponder: The idea that Love is the most powerful bond, an ephemeral emotion between humans that will/can/does eternally form a powerful lasting connection. I was listening to public radio this morning, and heard a story that caused me to rethink this long held opinion.

It was really a review of a band called something like 'out among the willows'. That's not totally correct, but I know it had something to do with willows, and think they were from Canada. The songs in the most recent release was based on a huge cache of letters in the possession of a grandmother of one of the band members.  Correspondence sent to the grandmother in one of he northern mid-west states, maybe Michigan, from a man she eventually married. Sent to his beloved, while he was serving in WWII in the south Pacific. She had saved them all these years, and allowed the now-adult, music-writing grandchild to pore over those three hundred missives. Opening a window to history, seeing what the grandfather had written of his life, war-time experience and devotion to his future wife.

I don't think the story I heard mentioned how long they had been married, but the granddad is deceased, fairly recently, in the past two years. And I assume the grandmother is still living. This young adult musician wrote a whole album of songs based on what he wrote to her. Granddad did safely returned to the States, and they married. The last of the saved letters was one written a week before their wedding, with him telling he had just gotten a haircut, and was boarding the bus on the way back to her.

What I learned in all this, not really listening to the words of the couple of songs that we heard snippets of, but perhaps reading between the lines: is of his commitment. Which caused me to ponder long-term marriages I have been a witness to. Not many, but some of well over fifty years in duration. The prime example being my parents, and my mother's parents. I have a couple of clear memories of attending a Golden Anniversary celebration for my maternal grandparents. The party was held at my parents' home, with lots of local people invited. I was probably 18 years old, and I think assigned to the cake cutting/serving position.

And then there are my parents, who were together over fifty years. My mom adamantly did not want any celebration, no party, nothing to bring notice to herself or any recognition from the community where they had lived all their adult lives. I could not let the occasion go totally unrecognized, so wrote everyone in her address book, as well as many others in the community, to ask them to think of the past, write and send letters/notes providing a story, remembrance of some time/event/occasion they had been together. Then I put that correspondence together in a loose-leaf binder to give to them to read, reminisce and enjoy.

What I am thinking is there are times when Commitment is stronger than Love. That, for any number of reasons, long after the spark that kindled the relationship is dies out, the commitment lingers on. I have only my theory, but I am remembering when I used to hear Paul Harvey announce anniversaries on his daily radio show.  I now believe that it is more than possible, to the edge of being likely, those weathered mid-western couples who had been out there on the Nebraska prairie for sixty-plus year were there for reasons other than devotion. Or love. That many of those couples were still together out of habit. Or a sense of commitment: believing that saying 'I do' really meant 'I will', and that the commitment involved was stronger than the theory of love lasting till 'death do us part'. Feel free to read between the lines...

Written on Friday, November 7, 2014, as a result of driving from Columbus to Decatur, which was a stopover on my way to TN for the weekend.

what a doofus...

...admitting to doing that same thing - again. I don't know why. Cannot explain it to me, much less anyone else, like someone who would be the boss of me. How it happened that I left the dang mustard off the porkchops again. I made them three times more  on Tuesday. And nary a one even had an opportunity to glance at the mustard bottle.

When I am doing anything to 'prep' meat, I am supposed to take all my supplies and materials on the little cart and drive it all back to the meat department. Go in there (twenty degrees colder than the rest of the store) where they are cutting up dead animals and putting them in Styrofoam trays. Then shrink wrapping the miscellaneous animal parts to present to the buying public and allow people to decide which of the deceased parts they would want to take home and put in their mouths. All that is going on around me, while I am dressing the chops in pecans, salt and pepper. But first they are to be covered with mustard. I don't know why I don't seem to be able to put the mustard on the pig. I can eat it on a hotdog, so why not on the chop? I can't say. But not the first one of those chunks of raw piggy got any mustard before I dunked them, one by one, in the bag that had the crumbed up pecan pieces.

And did not get any salting or peppering either. I can only surmise I was so desperate to get the hunks of meat wrapped up again, so I could beat a hasty retreat from the raw meat area. I have to wonder if I was leaving out vital ingredients in an effort to get me back up to my little kitchen area, removed from the dead animals. I sprinkled on the condiments when I put them in the pan to cook, but they never did get slathered with the mustard. Got lots of compliments anyway, so I can imagine they would have been circling around to get in line again, for a second helping if I'd had the presence of mind to include everything the recipe called for.

cooking errors ....

... I will admit to: failing to put the mustard on the porkchops yesterday. Five times. The recipe said to crumb up the pecans, spoon in some cornstarch, and cover the chops with mustard, then dip the meat in the zip bag to coat both sides with the nuts. I had to go back to the meat department to do this, and put the salt, pepper and mustard on my cart, to do all the prep work there. The nuts and cornstarch were in the bag, ready to receive the meat. I can't explain. It was all right there. But every time, I failed to spread the mustard on the chops before dropping them in the zipper bag for the coating part.

I know it would have been messier x5, with the mustard getting all over gloves and inside of bag. But that is just part of it. I just simply forgot. Every time I went to prepare more chops to cook. I can't explain it. But the admiring consumers did not seem to care. I am instructed to share hints with them - suggestions for shortcuts, or things I might have done differently in the cooking process. But I did not admit the first time to the passers-by that I had omitted mustard. So it probably behooves me to not admit it here.

Therefore: you are sworn to secrecy. Please don't blab. If you are one of those two people who have been repeatedly instructed to 'not tell everything you know', I'm not concerned about the info. getting out. But for the rest of you, your mom should have told you that it's not ok to be untruthful, or dishonest, but it is also Not Necessary To Tell Everything You Know.

I have another story that is worse than this = but that is for another day...

driving across south GA...

...in the fall is always a treat. I love to see the acres and acres of cotton, ready to be harvested and taken for processing. The way you see the fields that almost looks like snow. Almost glowing in the early morning sunlight, after the plants have been defoliated, bright white as far as the tree line in the distance.

I got up early on Friday and drove to Valdosta to spend some time with friends who live in Ocala. They have a daughter who lives in V., and were up to visit, with the added attraction of little people, brought to south GA, by their mom who lives about an hour away. Nice visit, good company, and a lunch at the Chicken Salad Chick café. Where tough decision are in order, since no one can possibly eat as much as they would really want to consume at one sitting.

Plus, when left unsupervised, we went to a couple of garden shops, and bought plants. I had some little violas I from several weeks ago, and bought another pack, and something else interesting called a licorice plant that will hopefully do well in a pot out by the front door. Got them all planted in pots on Saturday afternoon.

I went to visit my auntie in Valdosta on Sat. afternoon, and spent the night there. Took her to do some shopping, and went to bed early: due to a) getting up too early and b) having to get up and drive back home on Saturday to go to work. I got to work at ten o'clock, and stood on my feets till four. Giving away little chunks of pineapple on toothpicks. I guess the feeding frenzy was a replacement for what used to be called 'holiday fest. Which used to be one day where all the stores would provide samples of specialities for people to taste. In hopes of luring the passers-by into making purchases to feed the family delicioso products for the seasonal  gatherings.

we are all being lulled....

...into a false sense of security. It 's sad, and scary, how we think we are all safe, completely secure, well-protected. Enjoying all the benefits of living in relatively safe neighborhoods, under the vigilant eyes of public safety worker. Men and women who choose to dedicate their lives to provide protection from all the evil in this world, and crazy people.

The incident that occurred last week makes me think I need to make it a regular practice to practice regularly with my handy little hand gun. Just to cultivate the comfort level I would need to be able to use it on short notice. To know how to load in a sense of doing it as matter of habit. Along with the ability to use it if the necessity should arise. Plus the confidence to think I might hit what needs to be perforated.

There was a ... hmmm... attempted burglary? break-in? failed robbery? hot mess? at my work place the end of last week. Not only was I not present when it occurred, I was not even in the neighborhood: gone to TN for the weekend. So I missed all the excitement. Thankful for that!

It happened early one morning, when the earliest workers, people who come in hours before the store opens, are arriving: at four or five a.m. Bakery people who start baking, deli people who start cooking, grocery/stock clerks to unload warehouse trucks, produce guys to start putting out fresh goods. There was a man, mostly covered up, except for his eyes, with a shotgun hiding in the lobby area, between the two sets of electric doors. Snuggled up to the rows of shopping carts. Waiting for someone to come in who would get the earliest arrivals to come and unlock the inner sliding doors. Then he jumped out with his gun, and blew out one of the glass doors. A grocery person was hit with several bits of shot, but she is ok, not serious, and recovering. The early produce clerk, Vince, was involved. He was the one who was trying to get in the store to start work, and ended up saying: 'Please don't shoot me'. I don't know if it was a double barreled shotgun, but if not, the burgling guy was mostly harmless at that point. Vince went tearing out the back door, setting off the exit alarm.

I think the bad guy dashed out the front door, and apparently got away. I am sure this will cause Publix to re-think their early morning coming-in-to-work policies. I understand there has been a black-and-white sitting in the parking lot every morning since this 'alleged incident'. But if I were Vince, or Brittany, the young single mom, who was shot in the arm, I would be thinking about retirement.

What this means is that something similar, fueled by drugs, or envy/greed, or desperation, or unemployment, or just run-of-the-mill craziness can happen anywhere, any time, to any body. Remember a year ago, when I wrote about our house being burgled?  Crazy people abound.

it's hard work...

... but not complicated. I was on my feets for eight hours yesterday, cooking the Simple Meals at work. Making a dish I would never, not ever, no absolutely not consider cooking at home: it had two big thick steaks in it - and the actual recipe calls for a roast. I don't know which of the two I would rather Not be preparing. But after I got over the yuck factor of raw beef (x 3 - as I reproduced the recipe over and over after washing dishes) it was not bad, and got lots of compliments.

I've begun to wonder if people would say: that's awful? Cooking burgers on Tuesday, according to the instructions, using a meat thermometer to gauge doneness of the meat. Stacking them up with three kinds of 'hot': cream cheese with peppers, pepper jack cheese, then poppers. A number of tasters said that it was too red for them, under-done by the standards of what they would normally consume. I wanted to say: I would not eat it under any circumstances. But I cooked, and they ate.

This one has roasted garlic on top. Cook a cup full of garlic buds in the oven, put it in the food processor, add herbs and spread on top of the nearly done meat. I did not try it, but everyone who walked by my cooking space commented on how good it smelled:' that's the garlic', I said. And remembered a helpful hint I read years ago: what to do, if you have been lollygagging around all day, not thinking about preparing a meal to put on the table when you family comes in, famished. Throw some diced onions in a frying pan, start cooking and stirring. It will make the house smell great, make the family believe something is going on, and give you a few minutes to pull a rabbit out of your hat. Plus many a main dish can be improved by, or starts with a sautéed onion.

I think I am acclimating. And getting better at it. But yesterday I really struggled to get two dishes done at the same time. This was a major problem when I started cooking, still at home, learning how to put a meal on the table. I remember how difficult it is to see into the nearly immediate future to figure out what order things should be prepped in. A long learning curve of when to start different dishes, what the sequence should be for it all to be ready and on the table at the same time. When you are a kid and are called to 'wash your hands, it's time to eat', you don't realize how complicated that dance can be. But when you start doing it in your own space, for yourself: a learning process, of continuous guesswork/confusion/doubt/mistakes. Especially without motherly advice.

The other recipe was for a bread pudding, that tasted more like an omelet. I would not have given it the pudding name, even though it had eggs, cream, and cubed bread from the bakery in it. Because it also had cheese, garlic, leeks, thyme. It was good, and tasty, but when you hear the words 'bread pudding', your brain and taste buds are thinking: dessert, something sweet and tasty to end the meal.

travelin' south, east, south....

...is what happened when I left Chattanooga mid-afternoon on Sunday. Went to church and had a pizza for lunch with the folks in TN, then started back to Atlanta. I planned to spend the night in Decatur then drive up to SC on Monday. So I won't include the miles I drove on Sunday afternoon to the final figure: 406, which is my total for yesterday, starting at 6 a.m., and finally getting home at 9:00 to unload and fall into bed.

Had a good visit with my pen pal in SC, but sad that I did not have time to veer off to the south and visit with cuzzin who lives down towards Columbia. I'll have to do that on a Saturday, when she is not working. I will go and spend the day, we will have time to visit, poke around little towns in the area, and find some good places to eat. Or just sit on the couch and talk/laugh/reminisce.

I knew better: but did it anyway. Left Greenville about 4 o'clock in the afternoon, with full knowledge that traffic in the vicinity of Atlanta would be awful. I was hopeful that I could at least get through the worst of it before it got too dark to see. Thinking I could tolerate either the vehicular congestion or the darkness, but not both at the same time. When I got to the perimeter road: thousands of people in a hurry, we all slowed considerably, so that was actually in  my favor. My stress level gets even higher when I am compelled to travel at a high rate of speed just to keep from getting runned over. High speed bumper cars is not  my idea of fun.

So I stopped in Decatur, to get a bite to eat, and let all those thousands have time to get the worst of it sorted out amongst themselves. Which caused me to be later getting home, but decreased the stress level dramatically.  My new'ish Toyota was getting really good mileage out on the interstate highway: average mpg: 48-50. Plus the gas in SC is always a bit lower, so I stopped and filled up on  my way back to GA, where I had noticed it was $2.55/gal.