Edible Arrangement

In collaboration with numerous corporative entities, our third grade is doing a research program designed to educate children and families regarding healthy eating, which in Buffalo is very difficult. So much temptation. So many family restaurants. So many famous items we have built a reputation on. It turns out that in most schools, thirty percent of students are overweight. Here in the city, forty-five percent meet that criteria. Oof.

Tonight was the introductory meeting for participating teachers, meaning me. Held at a local hospital, we were given dinner: salad, breaded chicken with melted mozzarella; pasta, broccoli, and garlic floating in butter; white bread and more butter, and sub sandwiches. It was enormous food and stuck to your ribs. Your choice of Pepsi or water.

The other non-healthy issue is the only one supermarket in the inner city where most of our families live. Where the heck are they to shop? And anyways, food that is bad for you is cheaper in the short term; you understand if you've seen the price of produce lately, compared with a pack of store brand bologna slices or bags of chips. Who the hell can afford grapes when you have one parent and two to four to eight kids?
I can't even get some of my parents to get their children glasses or dental care.

If you see me on the news at eleven, you will know that I took the guitar the manchild below me is playing and whanged he daid. He's not playing a tune, just, well, this riff, this echo, this bass, this strum, this twang, this finger slide, this reverberation. He'll pause later to effing cuss out his effing girlfriend/wife because she effing don't effing appreciate all he effing does for her on earth. Eff. Ooh! There he goes!! "DON'T. EFFING. KNOCK. ON. MY. DOOR!!" Nasty.

In my dreams I aim Voice of the Theater speakers at the floor and turn up Sammy Davis Jr. Hey There, You Asshole. Love never made a fool of you, you goddam rockstupid hillbilly pink sausage tootsieroll. Sammy would sing that for me, I know he would.

Few things to do before turning in, tomorrow is another late night as I have to attend the school's Ice Cream Social as a teacher representative for the English Language Arts portion of the curriculum.

It is cold here, snow predicted south of the city in the foothills of the Alleghany mountains. A good night for sound sleep, for dreams of the last leaves and of geese flying in formation. Wind will lull you, will sail you to Nod.

"Nebulous and Moral Quandry"

Now I know why I married the man that I did. The Moody Blues. My ex, young and vigorous as he was, played the Moodys nonstop and I equated the romanticism and echoing lyrical crescendos as a virtue, amplified by the blonde mullet both he and Justin Hayward sported. How could I have fallen so hard for Nights in White Satin? This explains everything. That, and the Stand Up album by Jethro Tull.

And I looove yooouuuu, YES, I LOVE YOOOOOUUUUUU, WHOOAAh HO I LOVE YOOUUUUU. Damn you, primitive lizard brain!

Interruption: K Hoffmann is playing "After the Fall" sung by Klaus Nomi on Luxuria! I can tell you how I love Nomi, but I also have a download of Kristian the composer singing it, and his voice is absolutely pure and amazing. Find it, listen to it. I wish he'd play more of himself.

Rather disjointed post, sorry. Think I'll stop back in later....

The wind is accelerating to blastomatic speed and whistling around the brick corners, searching for crannies to pry open. Yee, the building is shaking and my ears feel like popping. Woof. I love a good windy evening, especially being blown down the street when walking at night. It's kind of like a funhouse ride where you don't have total control over movement, but if you get frightened just sit down on the sidewalk or grab a building.

We had a wooden sloop, a twenty-one foot I-21, designed to withstand heavy weather with a lead ballast that weighed over four hundred pounds. Now I am not one for sailing, the claustrophobia has me ready to jump, but on a rough day we would go out just to where the open lake met bay and pitch up and down, plunging from crest to trough. This, for some reason, was a hoot.

Earlier, it was a sunny day good for planting daffodil bulbs in Dad's backyard, with a few daylilies tossed at the borders. I hadn't used a shovel in years, and the dirt came up easily and rich with life. Dark mosses and purple heal-all gave before my mighty foot, roots of trailing mint snapped, and pink worms took leave of their tunnels, delved to bits by my long-handled digging. Centipedes ran and slugs awoke. I got the job done and squared up a brick edging that had slid apart by the gate.

Trimmed the rose bushes and will wrap them in burlap for winter, tuck them in for the season. I think the time change comes next week, the hour falls back which, my baby dolls, means extra time to sleep that morning. Ah, but those dark days...well, we will get through it, we always do and are none the worse for wear.

Latch the door and turn out the light, grab the cat and slip under the covers. October wakes at night, and its mysteries stir beyond our knowing. Tuck in yourselves, let the wind bear you east of the sun. Tomorrow is a fresh start.

Supermarket Lunch

I have turned the corner and kissed my sexiness goodbye, buried it next to my seventies studded embroidered jeans that I sewed snaps into the crotch. Son, you would eventually find them in the cedar chest after I go, so you might as well get over the shock that your mother ricocheted into sleeping with your father before marriage. Actually, little sleeping was going on except when my mother would rise early at 6 a.m. on Sunday mornings to wake us up by tapping on his car window after we did fall asleep. Bless her. "You better get in the house before your father finds you," she'd say.

Really, what could be expected when the paternoster pontificated whoredom since I was a tender baby girl, Cosmopolitan magazine equated maturity with Kegles, and sex rather than confidence was the so-called control I employed over men? Sure, I wished things were different, sure I wished I didn't think that because I hopped in the hay with him that I should marry him, but at the time the impetuousity of youth combined with a need for demonstrating independence overruled any lifesense.

Shoulda taken the scholarship. Shoulda gone to NYC Art School. Shoulda coulda woulda. Blah blaf blarg. None of it matters, for then maybe I would not have had our son. Who knows? And it is not too late for adventure. However, it will be adventure squeezed in between warm baths to loosen aching joints and bed by 10:00. As I said, today was the day I caught the free lunch bus and I am not looking back.

After the Farmer's Market trip with my friend, I stopped at the local grocery chain to hunt powdered coriander. Upon walking in, I was greeted by a former student who now has breasts and sparkle powder on them touting the fall celebration being put on by the store. You received a flyer with stations that had give-aways; the workers were to sign each visited station after which you put the flyer into a bin, eligible for a drawing to win a sheet pizza. Yow.

This was free food. Free food that I usually snub in self-congratulatory fashion. No more, I am ass over teacups for smidgens of edible samples. Abbie Hoffmann would be proud. Look him up, young'uns. First there was mulled cider, then banana peppers stuffed with chicken sausage, foccacia with tomatoes. Vitamin water, dill chip dip, lovely salami spread with gorgonzola cheese garnished with a tiny wedge of pear. Chocolate chip cookies, frozen pizza samples, and apple slices dipped in caramel. Oh mama. I fell into hell with a smile. Move over, bitches.

Some of the older folks greeted the food sample distributing people by name, and I am right there with them, or will be next week. It took care of lunch and I lost any shame that may have been needling me not to cadge free samples. Me, who shops at AmVets, Habitat for Humanity Restore, garbage picks, and digs through the recycling bins for yesterday's newspaper ads rather than shucking out fifty cents for a paper. It comes under the heading of hunting and gathering, which, when you have bills to pay, should be as close to free as possible.

I told my friend that if cat food prices get any higher, I'll get a slingshot license and start nailing the local Canadian Geese which are getting shot as nuisances anyways. I could do it, and we would all feast and get free down stuffing for our pillows also. Sure, come on over. We have lots of fun over here.

This day went at a clip, already the sun is down and the winds are picking up. I am going to go poke around at dishes and ponder life. Take good care of yourself, all of you, it means the world to me. We need all the good people we can get, so tonight when you finally drop off to sleep, give yourself a thought for your good fortune at living in a world where chances to start over abound. Sleep well, sleep sound.

Friday Wanderer

Fridays are great! I say Friday is the best day of the week for Halloween to fall on, and next week is it! Something about the color of Friday and the depth of Halloween go together...Friday was always the second holiest day of the week because of that fish decision made by the Council of Trent, being brought up Catholic, that is. My poor mother had no clue how to cook without meat, and the family would end up with fried eggs, mashed potatoes, and a thawed-out block of Bird's Eye orange squash for dinner. Or fishsticks, which were a safe way to cook fish at home without turning the kitchen into a mess.

I would plan routes estimated to produce the best trick or treat loot, with houses known to hand out apples as a waste of scavenging time. We would go from street to suburban street, delighted with the generosity of neighbors. Never dreamt of going past boundaries out of our territory, we were happy with the royal treatment our own neighborhoods provided.

Folks would pop and butter corn, handed out in waxed paper sacks. Homemade caramel apples, cookies, handfuls of change for the desperate houses that ran out of candy but didn't want to disappoint filled the paper grocery bags. One house was famous for cupcakes decorated with orange frosting and candy corn, another for orange juice popsicles, one for cups of cider. Another had a father who played the concertina and made you listen before handing out the goods.

On inspecting the swag, you would find candy that you had never heard of, strange tastes manufactured in New York City, home of foreigners. Chinese bubblegum sticks, wax shapes filled with syrups, god forbid something weird that was maybe black liquorice maybe not, and jawbreakers with a seed of fennel in the center. Pleah.

You sorted the piles into the full size candy bars such as Snickers, Mars Bars, Sky Bars, or Three Musketeers, which for some reason was very popular in our neighborhood. The money went in another pile, smaller exotic bars went in a third, apples went to the fruit bowl in the kitchen, and the weird stuff was pirated away for emergency candy raids, or offered to Dad who would eat anything.

Yesterday, I cooked an acorn squash in class for my students to taste, today I did a buttercup squash. Some loved it. Next week I'll do butternut and maybe a Hubbard. Squash-O-Rama. A few haven't a clue as to what I'm feeding them, but they need to know what produce is compared with the processed fast food some of them subsist on.

Plan your routes for the next week, imagine the loot you will find. Sleep and rest peacefully, New York City, your strange candies are bewitched and enchanting. Good night.

6:29 PM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comm

Creative Studies Ho!

Yessir, Buckaroos and Buckarettes, I received the email of formal congratulations on my acceptance into the Master of Science Degree program! Is this not a moment?, you may sit down and fan yourselves back into consciousness if you like, or remain in pleasant addlement with those perceived twinkling lights you love so much. Catch one!

I am happy, and will kick academic butt. I know I can. The thing is, this whole endeavor better hurry cause time is flying, and today on the way to work in the car, I sneezed. And? You wonder? Oh my dears, I sneezed twice and guess what happened to fat and fifty me? I piddled; spent a penny, as Mom would say. It happens to women when muscle tone drops. Kids, I would tell you things, but my son reads this blog except let me say I used to bounce quarters off my tummy and be able to make change for a ten with my femoral humerus.

So on the grocery list is a reminder to get those nasty little pads that tape to undies, I hate those things. But I need a little insurance in case I sneeze while teaching, for kids love nothing better than pointing out you have wet pants. Like the time I leaned against the class sink while holding up guppies and got a line of water imprinted on the khakis. Har har.

How can I go to college and leak? Impossible. Very difficult surrounded by young things wearing the most disastrous of outfits. O twenties! O fashion crackheads! Their navels appear in the frostiest weather and hiss at the urine-soaked older people. The good thing is that I am often mistaken for a professor, or I fit into the role of Mom within the classroom setting. The professor image has gotten me prime parking, so who am I to shatter someone's disillusion?

I think this calls for celebration, and I think that means buying a bottle of Chanel's Blue Satin nail polish as a most hip friend recommended. I rarely wear nail polish and keep my nails clipped short, but since I am getting bonuses when I sneeze, I will wave my trendy blue fingernails for distraction. "Oh, she is wearing the latest! How clever! That can't possibly be a spot of urine on her pants, the dear must have sat on a nugget of snow. Smart people don't piddle on themselves."

But oh yes they do; any smart person will tell you that the best way to get out of conversation with an emotional vampire is to pee yourself a little. The leech will steer far away from you and beg attention elsewhere. God forbid they have to take care of anyone else but themselves. See? This is a secret of the old, something many Westerners have climbed Tibetan mountains to find out. And here you have it at an early age without dragging an oxygen tank up a steep slope.

Gosh, I am too excited to sleep; you will have to do it for me. The wind is whipping around the corners of the building and the night is starless and filled with low clouds. Milk, I shall find a glass of milk for tomorrow is a busy day. Good night. Send wishes out. I will too.

Throw ’er into Reverse

Dad, who had been yammering about getting into the nursing home received information from the local VA Hospital on doing just that. Whoa Nebby. At least he has made the decision that he wants to stay in the house, and I am reassuring him that the VA only wants to take a look at him to get a baseline record of his health issues.

I am all for his staying in the house until he really can't get around without his walker or needs 24 hour care which isn't the case at the moment. When he dies, it will end a generation of older relatives and their stories of the times of the Depression, of trolley cars, and ghosts. It will be sad.

Today I made a sort of mulligatawny with leftover chicken and curry, it was one of the soups in my cookbook back in Chicago. Funny how smells bring around memories. My gosh, I was thin and determined to make marriage work, foregoing college studies to become a Good Wife. Damn near killed me. Thank goodness for the Polish Russian German Scotch Welsh genetics that keep one pissed off enough to not let that sort of thing get you down.

I think there's French in there also, which explains the penchant for lovely soaps; nothing like a good scrub and lather, then dress and out the door to see what the populace is up to today. Soap fascinated me when I was little, each had a particular odor, but nothing fragrant was allowed. Bars of Dial, Lifebuoy, Palmolive, Lava, Ivory, or FelsNaptha would appear at the tub in addition to the dose of Oxydol or Spic and Span that Mom put in the water with me.

It was as close to smelling fresh as I got, for as readers remember, Dad didn't allow fancy soaps or lotions in the house. Pine fresh me. My revenge as a teenager was to get a job at the cosmetics counter in a department store, where I found White Shoulders, Chanel No. 22, and Ambush in soap form. Not to mention how to apply a heavy troweling of Helena Rubenstein. I was a rebel in green eyeshadow and a layer of Toujours Moi. It was a ricochet brought on by those years of floor cleaner baths, a cannonade of spritz and powder accented with zings of eyeliner. I was Mom's supplier as well, and the sullen looks from Dad I learned to ignore. Nothing like legs that can walk you out of a house.

I miss those days of goop, and must rely somewhat on good taste tethered by the stretchiness of my eyelids and saggy cheeks. A crime, I say. But also a blessing, for people look at me these days, not at the line of green extending from the under corner of my eye to my earlobe. But those of you in the know can point at Joey Arias and say that glamour doesn't disappear but increases with wisdom. My theory is that Joey would love to dive into a bowl of Mama's spaghetti and say the hell with the corset, but she is the one to work hard for what she wants.

It's getting nigh on to nine o'clock and time for cocoa. The soup has cooled enough to be put into the fridge, and Martian has had his shot of insulin. Night winding down, Wednesday passing into Thursday. Sleep well and dream of pots of color to paint your pretty faces.

Snow!

Truthfully, more like ice crystals that pinged off the windshield, but I saw a snowflake waft by on the sidewalk. The city could get an inch tonight, then back up to the 50's by the weekend. I still want to stock in a few cans of sterno in case of power outages. Overall, it is warm and safe in this apartment.

I used to trot around through the bitterest weather in a wine-colored leather coat and heeled boots. These days I bind and bundle myself in layers of wool, pulling whatever lined hat with flaps on my head. The boots are flat with treads like Michelins and over everything goes a full length goose down coat from AmVets for ten bucks. There is a hood attached that makes it look like I am peering down a sewer pipe when up and secured. I. Don't. Care. Oh, pardon, I mean, I. Don't. Fluffing. Care.

One cold day in Chicago outside of I. Magnin, a cream colored Rolls Royce was at the curb with the chauffeur handing out a grandmother, her grown daughter, and young granddaughter who was maybe seven. The three of them had on long mink coats. It was like a movie from the early thirties, but that was not unusual in Chicago. You had to do something about that wind from Lake Michigan, and in Chicago, there's money.

Here in Buffalo, there's soup which is better than money especially with noodles in it, the kind you make yourself. Rivels, I thing they're called, little chewy bits of egg dough flicked into the boiling broth by your fingers. They expand as they cook, so make them small; in a chicken soup they are substantial and you will shovel not only your own sidewalk after a bowlful, but the neighbors may see you headed up the next block, discernible only by the plume of snow you disperse behind you.

But hey, this is only a taste of winter, a hint to make you buy cans of beans to make later chili. It can't be snow yet, before Halloween. O omens of December!

Set things right before you go to bed, you'll feel better in the morning. For me, that means getting a cup of tea ready to microwave and pouring cereal into a bowl, ready for milk. A small thing. You find something, too. Sleep happy, sleep warm.

6:46 PM - 0 Comments - 0 K

Bows and Wows

The third grade had the K-9 Corps come to the school today for a demonstration of police dog work. Two of the biggest German Shepherds arrived and played like puppies, tails wagging, ears up. The officers let the kids pet the dogs, to my amazement. I thought that a working dog was hands off, but maybe that is regarding service dogs. They were beautiful, I had forgotten the intense brown look that a dog attends with.

Another item is that the dogs are individually trained in different languages so that they respond to only their trainers, and not the burglar yelling Sit! One knew Czech, and the other was taught a language that sounded like pig latin nonsense. Oo-stay! Pooshta!!
Za Bak Daz! Just kidding on that last one....

I still feel like I was beat with sticks from sawing down hedges on Sunday, and there is so much more to do. Haven't taken any aspirin, I'd rather tough it out until I break down and cut a tablet in half and then wish I'd done it sooner. I am such a noodge about medication.

I purchased daffodil bulbs and can't wait till spring to see them blossom. It would help if they were planted first, but that may come later this week. Some are so fragrant, it lifts you up. Try Ice Follies. Pale in color, but the aroma will transport your essence to a place of frolicking baby animals when inhaled. It smells like Grandma when she was younger, clean sheets, and sugar icing. It smells like Eden. Like peace. Like compassion.

Enjoy the night. Love the dark. Rest your eyes. Sleep well, heal. xxx

Adventure: Stress with Confidence

Historically, October is a busy month in my family concerning birthdays, deaths, getting the house ready for winter, putting up grape jam, laying by squash, or canning immense amounts of applesauce. I went over to Dad's to clear out a mishmash of bushes that were half planted, half uninvited things hellbent on turning into trees, right at a fenceline. I got lots of sturm und drang going with a bucksaw, getting most of the crowd sawed down to knee level. Next, the pick will dig the rootmass and I will win this plot of turf back. After the frost, I'll tend to the wasp nest in the further bushes.

Can those things chew through a plastic bag? I know I could with both hands tied behind my back, so these insects that can chew wood into paper maybe can also, especially if riled. I think I have to drown them, which I dislike, but don't want to use poison. Where do wasps fit in the suburban habitat? What do they do? These are handsome blue black ones, but unless I find redeeming qualities, they are going into a bucket of water. Maybe I should pour vodka in there with them, for a happier ending. I don't have any vodka...I have....uhhh..Oh! I have some leftover raspberry stuff from making Christmas cookies. Or rum, I do own rum from making babas.

Hopefully, they'll be stupid from the frost anyways, so why am I worried? Uh-oh, Google just stated redeeming qualities such as eating tomato hornworms, those great moogly green things that eat tomato plants. These are named Great Black Wasps, and are generally non-aggressive. Hrmph. They are pretty, but are living in an overgrown bush that is going to get trimmed in favor of a fruit tree. Well, they have earned a stay of execution.

I took Kai with me as I cleared the yard. She didn't object too much to the harness and collar, but had not been anywhere in the car except the vets. Her exploring was limited, and most of the time she sat back under the bushes I was destroying. Took her in to see Dad, who was not very interested. I let her trot around the house and run up stairs, which she negotiated very well. I have had animals not know what to do with stairs, and wonder if this indicates pre-existing knowledge of where she lived before. Who knows...when we got back to the apartment, she jumped to the highest dresser and napped. I think she liked going, she'll let me know when I bring the harness out next week.

Adventures. Sleep well, shake out the blankets. Take them to an outdoor line if you can and let the air freshen the weave. You will sleep sounder than anyone else in town.

Good night to all, bless you my readers.

The Seventies Arise in Scavangnation

In other news, do you know how hard it is to find tools or Anything that is not made in China? Are there no foundries in our nation anymore? The lopping shears I bought are made in Finland; I like IKEA and Finland is close to Sweden where IKEA originated, so that makes it okay. I think Santa lives in Finland, or maybe that is where the reindeer are farmed in the off season. Norway is up there too, and that is where AHA is from, you know the rotoscope "Take On Me" band, meaning that these lopping shears have a five octave range if you don't look at the eighties hairdos too closely. God forbid I type the word /mullet/.

I have put a message out to the universe that I want to have a garden next year, in case of no food and would sneak chickens in there too if the zoning laws allowed. This garden will cost as close to nothing as can be sanely managed, which indicates scavenge mode is activated. With a Chevy Cavalier, though, loading isn't as easy as it was with the Ford Escort wagon, unless I clean out the trunk and push down the back seats. On the search and rescue list are boards for making raised beds and soil. And rocks, I like lots of rocks for that Japanese Sensible Serenity environment. Rocks calm me down, and I will play with them for hours, stacking and rearranging.

Rocks are free, and I know a cliff on the lake where millions of prehistoric bivalves have fossilized themselves into solid chunks of: rock. My poor car. It has no idea what it is in for. If it could run away, it would; it would join the circus and become a clown car instead of helping me garbage-pick off the streets. It might hope to be stolen and taken on a joy ride through the barrio by teenage boys who leave Starburst wrappers in the back seat. Can I blame it? The only reassurance is that I can't haul heavy stuff like I used to, and have cut way down on my Abbie Hoffman hippie liberation of other people's castoffs.

Vegetable plants are easy to start from seed, and friends are busy donating flowering perennials thinned out from their own yards. I have enough tomato seed to make Chef Boy Ar Dee do a backflip.

I am excited about this garden, am not sure where it will be but that is minor detail. Send any news regarding rocks that need adoption to this posting address. I think they are knocking down a building which mightily may provide the boards for banking the sides of the garden bed. Next year, we shall be rolling in carrots.

Love to all. Sleep well.