Reclaiming a Bit of Myself

This week, I broke down and ordered used copies of three cookbooks that I loaned to someone and never got back. I love this trio by Mollie Katzen. Finding the versions I previously owned -- the originals, before the author 'lightened' the recipes -- was a bit of a challenge, but I managed.

For several years, I tried looking for tried-and-true favorite recipes on-line, but I suspect many aren't the same. People base their versions on the original, but the changes they make aren't necessarily something TV or I would like. Example: cucumber salad with red onion, red wine vinegar, and honey. I found something very close on-line, but it called for dill and radishes. The radishes never played into the recipe I used to make, and I can't imagine using dill, because TV is seriously not a fan of dill.

And there was a mashed potato pie crust I used for a spinach-ricotta pie . . . Tuscan bean soup . . . lime marinated roasted red peppers . . . zucchini & tomato sandwiches . . .

I'll be haunting my mailbox this week, that's for sure!

Oh, My Aching Feet

Never tell a Pisces that her aching feet are all in her head. Ever. Go ahead: Google Pisces and feet and see what comes up. If you stop to think about it, it's not so very odd that fish would have feet problems.

But I'm getting sidetracked. My feet hurt for a very specific reason. I've been standing in the kitchen in a pair of flipflops making an Opera/Anniversary picnic. Tomorrow is TV & my wedding anniversary, and we're going to Glimmerglass. I'm not an opera fan, but Glimmerglass is just as much about the experience as it is the opera. There is a picnic area across the road from the theater. Last year, I dreamed a picnic lunch and threw together an impromptu meal. It was lovely. This year, as I mentioned, our Glimmerglass tickets happen to be for our anniversary.

I spent the week surfing the net looking for picnic ideas. I found several that I adapted to our particular tastes. We're having two kinds of "Mediterrean Turkey Wraps"; a rice, asparagas, and cucumber salad, and a medley of fresh berries. There are a couple of 187ml bottles of spumante chilling along with everything else. I just need to pack the dishes and tablecloth in the picnic basket and find a cooler. It's going to be a nice afternoon.

After the opera, we plan to eat dinner in a restaurant, then hit a silent movie festival, where a live orchestra will accompany the flicks. This is more TV's thing than mine. It could be worse. He could want to go to the Baseball Hall of Fame . . . again.

So now the washer is going, the dryer is going, the dishwasher is going, there's a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc in my refrigerator calling my name, and my feet hurt.

Planning a relaxing day is exhausting . . . and rough on the feet.

Exhibiting Secrets

A few weeks ago, X-Chromo asked me to take her to the local art museum to see the Post Secrets exhibit. X-Chromo has been a Post Secret fan for several years . . . owns at least two of the books, checks the website every Sunday for the update. It was in town for several months, but I finally managed to put on the Good Mommy Hat and take her and one of her friends on the last day of the exhibit.

Post Secrets is an on-going 'art project' where people create 'postcards' containing their deepest secrets and mail them anonymously to the creator (whose name escapes me at the moment).

I saw many people crying at the museum as they read some of the confessions. A couple of secrets stayed with me, but none made me cry. I did choke up at the ballet slippers bearing the truth about why the owner gave up dance: her teacher told her she was no good at it. And I was amused at one or two others, which makes me sound callous, but really? They were amusing.

X-Chromo told me about a secret from one of the books: "No one who knew me before 9/11 knows I'm alive." I wrote a book based on this premise many years ago. Another writer friend says she periodically goes to the website searching for 'secrets' to use as creative inspiration.

It's interesting to read what some folks consider their deepest, darkest secrets. The museum played a taped-interview with the project creator, who claimed the most common secret he receives is, "I pee in the shower."

What's really interesting is the perspective one gains about one's own life and 'secrets'. Things could be a lot worse.

She's a Lady?

A couple of weeks ago, TV & I went to a nearby city to see TOM JONES in concert. TV thinks Jones is cool. I don't hate his music, but I remember watching him on television during his heyday and thinking he was a disgusting old man. I recently shared this sentiment with my PHriends. Braveheart Barbie said she used to think the same thing. Neither of us could understand why women reacted to him the way they did. I thought he was sleazy.

He looks good for a man of his age -- he's 68. And his voice is still there. He's a good singer. I just don't like him. And after hearing & seeing him in concert, I have to say he's still sleazy. Back then -- mid-to-late sixties -- women in the audience would throw hotel room keys and their underwear at him while he performed. When I mentioned that we were going to see him, people asked if I were going to toss my undies at him. Yeah. Right.

But times change.

As do underwear styles.

About three numbers into his performance, I saw a woman near the front of the theater twirling thong underwear over her head like a lasso. Other women gradually followed suit. Until Tom started singing She's a Lady. Then thongs started flying. TV and I elbowed each other. Does anyone else see the irony of flying undies at that particular time?

After the song was over, Jones looked at the colorful scraps at his feet and said something lascivious about 'thongs' instead of bikinis. Women throughout the theater squealed. No irony there.

I enjoyed the show, although not as much as TV did. But now I can say I've seen Tom Jones live and in person.

Yawn.

Don't Call Me: Divine Telephone Etiquette

I hate telephones.
Sometimes they're good; sometimes they're useful. Emergencies are perfect for telephones.
And editors/agents are always welcome to call me, day or night.
Writing contest coordinators, too.
If you're X-Chromo, Y-Chromo (especially if you're at college), or TV Stevie, I'll talk. I may not want to, but I will. Mom, Dad, Sissie, Bro -- I'll talk to you too, but you all have my e-mail address.
I prefer e-mail to telephones because e-mail isn't intrusive. It doesn't interrupt naps, meals, movies, muses.

Here are my top 5 Phone Peeves.

1) If you're a telemarketer, don't bother. I will not buy from you simply on principle. I do not have a telephone so you can intrude on my life. Frankly, I don't understand why I have to pay for an instrument of torture.

2) Rudeness. When I worked at my last job, I had to deal with a lot of incoming customer complaints. People were just plain nasty. They wouldn't speak to their doctor or their lawyer or even their spouse they way they spoke to me. And it wasn't only younger people. People old enough to have been taught manners were disgustingly rude. Just because you can't see someone's face doesn't grant you a license to be mean. And remember: what goes around, comes around (or as Bea Arthur used to say as Maude, "God will get you for that.") Next time you want to call someone to complain, remember that the person logging your comments probably isn't responsible for the situation and probably can't do anything about it. TPTB rarely face the music directly. They can and do underpay some shlub to listen to you rant.

3) I'll just get settled on the sofa with my lap desk & my laptop computer . . . and the house phone and/or my cell phone will ring. This is my fault. I know this will happen. Without fail. And it's never only one call. Before I settle in to write, I should put the cordless and my cell phone next to me.

4) Receptionists/assistants who don't know how to answer a phone in a professional manner. There is training out there. Often the receptionist is a customer's first impression of a business. "Yeah," or "hang on," are not appropriate responses (there is no HANG button on a phone*). And what's with the thirty-somethings (and younger) not ennunciating? Everyone slurs. It sounds . . . ignorant. Words have consonants in them for a reason: so we can tell the words apart.

5) Voice mail messages. Now, I happen to be very fond of voice mail, but there are two things people do that drive me right straight up the wall. Again, this should be basic training for anyone in sales or who does a lot of phone work (except telemarketers, who should hang -- not hold -- their heads in shame and embarrassment). When you leave a voice mail message, state who you are, your company and your phone number right away. That's right. State your phone number up front, followed by your message. And when you leave your phone number, say the numbers slowly. I don't know why everyone thinks that as soon as they start to speak numbers, they need to race. SPEAK THE NUMBER S-L-O-W-L-Y so people can write it down. And if you give your number at the beginning of the message, someone won't have to listen to an entire two minute message repeatedly in order to check that the number is written down correctly.

*If there were to be a HANG button on a phone, it should be used for people in Peeve #2

So now you know how to get hold (not hang) of me. I'd love to hear from you.