Tag Archives: postaday2011

Blech

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Contrary to what I have previously suggested, do not, I repeat, do not attempt to bring home a half-eaten salad in a plastic container thinking that what you have is another great meal.

What you have is a soggy mess of limp greens, softish nuts, deflated blueberries and unnaturally slippery chunks of pineapple and strawberry. It is not and will never be either my or your idea of a good follow-up meal.

Oh, yeah, sure — take the sucker home when you can’t finish it. But remember, the clock starts the minute you swoop up the remains and walk to the car. Every 45 minutes, flavor, taste and appeal (FTA) take a big tumble.

(Seems like this should be an important revelation rather than a painfully obvious footnote.)

Thumbs Up

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Too hot to cook? Of course it is.

Get yourself to Panera’s asap. Order the strawberry  chicken salad with a hunk of a French baguette and a frozen strawberry lemonade. Depending upon where your hunger rates on a scale of 1 to 10 with 10 being ravenous, anything 7 or below will have you toting home leftovers.

This St Louis headquartered restaurant chain has earned a lot of attention for its healthy menu choices — and the best thing about it, it just feels like a normal good-place-to-eat.

Home cooking, you’ve met a match.

Sunday Sundae

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A real Soda Jerk (Image by Wikipedia)

A trio of people claim they invented the ice cream soda. But the good money (Wikipedia) says it was Philadelphia native Robert Green who in 1874 came up with the idea in order to steal customers away from a nearby vendor who had a bigger, fancier soda fountain.

Green mixed a scoop of vanilla with soda water and offered customers a choice of 16 different flavored syrups. They loved ‘em and over-night every self-respecting soda fountain had them on their menus.

But here is the weird thing. Soda was considered a miracle cure by many and so, was subject to control just like alcohol. In some places, dour conservatives managed to ban selling sodas entirely or at least on holy days. Not to be denied profit, the creative soda fountains owners came up with the soda-less ice cream sundae.

I love this story. It is triumph of Suh-weet over Sour.

Door to Door

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I confess. I was home when the two nicely groomed men in short sleeves with black satchels came to the door, one of whom was holding a pamphlet of some sort. That’s the up side of having a paned-glass door, it’s never a surprise to see who is on the porch.

I backed up the staircase and went back to whatever I was doing, ignoring the second bleat of the door bell. Later, I picked up the Watchtower that had been left at the door and tossed it into recycling.

Best I can figure out is Jehovah Witness folks spend time door-to-door as a public service making sure people know that the Kingdom of God which they believe to be the ultimate government will replace all earthy governments sooner or later.

Given what’s going on in Washington, I wouldn’t be surprised to hear that the heavenly bureaucrats are packing up their desks right now.

Newly-weds

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She stands at the sink in the restroom with a bunch of cosmetics on the narrow ledge under the mirror. Her dark hair is skimmed tightly back from her face and gathered in a low pony tail on her neck. She wears khaki capris, a snug fitting black polyester tank top, a tiny gold crucifix on a gold chain and worn out flip-flops.

Tearing open the plastic bubble tethering her new mascara, she announces, “I never wear make-up.” She gazes mournfully into the mirror, lifts and drops her hair onto her neck. Shrugging slightly, she continues as if we are in the middle of a deep  conversation.

“Ewww, I’m meeting my in-laws for the first time. We’re moving to Newton, Iowa. I’ve never lived anywhere but Texas.” She looks at me and grimaces, “I shouldn’t have had a beer already. But you know,” her voice rising, “it’s lunch time.”

She squeezes her left eye shut and jabs at her lashes with her mascara. It leaves big clumps on her lashes and when she blinks, she smears both the top and bottom of her eye. I rip off a section of the paper towel, run it under the faucet and hand it to her.

“I’d wipe off the wand before you use it, otherwise it’s a mess and not a good look. Listen, they’re gonna love you. Newton? I’m telling you, Newton is one of the most livable towns in the mid-west. It’s very nice.”

Her eyes glisten as she dabs at her face, squares her shoulders and resolutely looks at herself in the mirror.

When I get to the car, I pull out the Atlas and find Newton. It’s a little town about 25 miles north. When I pull out I look for cars with Texas plates but don’t see any so she must be from the big trucks that park in their own section. Well good, I think, someone in the family is working.

Plant Life in the Driveway

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I stuffed 4 bulbs of elephant ears and 3 or so of caladium into my favorite pot that sits on the front end of the drive-way. I watered every once and a while early on but nothing happened. So I buried some more bulbs.

Then I went on vacation and  forgot all about them.

When I came back home, there was quite a crowd. They stood at attention, bowed and  performed a spontaneous, synchronized wave.  I was frankly, quite touched.

Shortly after, they collapsed from the heat and needed huge water infusions to bring them back from death’s jaws.