Despite promises to do better, and failing to do so, and apologizing for same, it seems I haven't improved. Soooo, see preceding sentence. Rinse and repeat.
For your enlightenment and edification, much has happened that you don't know about. Yet. For openers, I have a new grandchild. That would be Number 11. A lovely little girl. The F's outnumber the M's in Grandchild Land. At least in this family. Funny, since all of my personal output is M. Out of the 11 Grands, only three are of the M variety. But this newest one is cute and I think we'll keep her. She was baptized on Easter Sunday and I guess that makes her official.
Now lest you think that I have no other new news, I've got news for you! You betcha I do! On Friday, I was informed that I now have my first Great Grandchild. Yes, you read that right. I, so young, am a Great Granny. The child of my eldest granddaughter. Also a girl. Also cute. She gave her Mom a rough couple of months by threatening the very body struggling to produce her. Granddaughter was on bed rest for a couple of months for very serious health reasons, attributable in full to the Fruit of the Womb. But now it's over and all are doing well.
Oh, yes, we also went to the circus. We do so every year and the two little girls, ages nine and five, look forward to it with great anticipation. The older of the two is enthralled by every aspect - from the clown who entertains during the set-up and the take-down between acts to the wire walkers to the animals and the motorcyclists in the Cage of Death. The younger sits quietly and waits for the cotton candy vendor. Once she has that in her hands, (and her face and her hair and her clothes) she is content.
And I had an Oncologist appointment last week and all seems to be well in that department. He gave me the go-ahead to buy green bananas so I must be okay.
Stay tuned - you never know when something new will happen.
Sunday, May 1, 2011
Friday, March 25, 2011
Foiled Again
I don't think it's very nice of a company, a well-known, nationally recognized, brand name company at that, to sell me a product that is so damned outstanding that I loved it from the time I opened the box, to suddenly say, "Well, we're sorry, but we don't feel that enough of you folks out there are making it worthwhile for us to continue making this product, so we've decided, without asking you, to stop making it and tough".
Some time ago, I was in the grocery store, in no particular hurry, and looking at all the new products that I'd never seen before. There was a big display of gizmos that promised to suck the air out of your freezer bags so that you wouldn't get freezer burn and your frozen stuff would last longer. Of course, the gizmo only worked on the special suckable bags that were being made by the same well-known, nationally recognized, brand name company.
Since I live alone, and am notoriously frugal, (some call it cheap), I try to take advantage of big meat sales, and then I bag up individual portions and freeze. But food stored in regular plastic bags have a limited life in the freezer. Tends to get all dried-out looking and nasty, so you kind of have to eat it relatively quickly.
So back to the gizmo. It looked pretty promising and to add to the attraction, at a cost of $8.00, it fit into my frugality program. Better yet, there was a refund coupon included and it promised to get me a check for $5.00. In addition, the package included four of the bags that were necessary for the operation of the gizmo. I bought it. I sent in the required POP (proof of purchase) and my register receipt, and got my refund.
I had just purchased, at a really great price, a large package of chicken thighs, so I divided the package into four bags of two thighs each and sucked the air out. Ye Gods! This was beautiful.
Nice tight little parcels of chicken, neatly stored in the freezer.
Next time in the store, I purchased another package of the required suckable bags. And the freezer was neat and tidy with all my thrifty cuts of meat, safe and sound.
Each time I wanted to reclaim a package, I found the contents exactly the same color as the day I put it away. There were no ice crystals on the meat. It thawed and cooked so nicely. The only drawback to my miserly way of life was that the bags were not to be reused, according to a warning on the box. But that was okay because I was saving a bundle on the meat that didn't get all nasty while awaiting my ministrations.
But my freezer delight ended when the lights went out on the bag supply. Searching in vain in every store, even the hardware store, made me despair at ever finding the bags again.
So I wrote to the company, only to find that they discontinued the bags. How dare they?! I mean really, how dare they?!
Well, you can bet that I will no longer be purchasing any product that has the name "Reynolds" attached to it. Yes, the esteemed Reynolds company, that supplier of foil, narrow and wide, regular and heavy duty, even single sheets and non-stick foil, pulled the plug on one of the best inventions of the 21st. century. Because not enough people were buying them. Maybe because they failed to invest any of their excessive profits into an ad campaign to introduce them to the vast market of seniors and singles who would have stormed the ramparts to get the bags if only you had demo'd them on TV and in the stores.
Other companies make foil products and plastic wrap and plastic bags, Reynolds, you scoundrel. In future, I shall partake of their products and let yours decline on the shelf, and may all your frozen meat be infested with freezer burn.
Some time ago, I was in the grocery store, in no particular hurry, and looking at all the new products that I'd never seen before. There was a big display of gizmos that promised to suck the air out of your freezer bags so that you wouldn't get freezer burn and your frozen stuff would last longer. Of course, the gizmo only worked on the special suckable bags that were being made by the same well-known, nationally recognized, brand name company.
Since I live alone, and am notoriously frugal, (some call it cheap), I try to take advantage of big meat sales, and then I bag up individual portions and freeze. But food stored in regular plastic bags have a limited life in the freezer. Tends to get all dried-out looking and nasty, so you kind of have to eat it relatively quickly.
So back to the gizmo. It looked pretty promising and to add to the attraction, at a cost of $8.00, it fit into my frugality program. Better yet, there was a refund coupon included and it promised to get me a check for $5.00. In addition, the package included four of the bags that were necessary for the operation of the gizmo. I bought it. I sent in the required POP (proof of purchase) and my register receipt, and got my refund.
I had just purchased, at a really great price, a large package of chicken thighs, so I divided the package into four bags of two thighs each and sucked the air out. Ye Gods! This was beautiful.
Nice tight little parcels of chicken, neatly stored in the freezer.
Next time in the store, I purchased another package of the required suckable bags. And the freezer was neat and tidy with all my thrifty cuts of meat, safe and sound.
Each time I wanted to reclaim a package, I found the contents exactly the same color as the day I put it away. There were no ice crystals on the meat. It thawed and cooked so nicely. The only drawback to my miserly way of life was that the bags were not to be reused, according to a warning on the box. But that was okay because I was saving a bundle on the meat that didn't get all nasty while awaiting my ministrations.
But my freezer delight ended when the lights went out on the bag supply. Searching in vain in every store, even the hardware store, made me despair at ever finding the bags again.
So I wrote to the company, only to find that they discontinued the bags. How dare they?! I mean really, how dare they?!
Well, you can bet that I will no longer be purchasing any product that has the name "Reynolds" attached to it. Yes, the esteemed Reynolds company, that supplier of foil, narrow and wide, regular and heavy duty, even single sheets and non-stick foil, pulled the plug on one of the best inventions of the 21st. century. Because not enough people were buying them. Maybe because they failed to invest any of their excessive profits into an ad campaign to introduce them to the vast market of seniors and singles who would have stormed the ramparts to get the bags if only you had demo'd them on TV and in the stores.
Other companies make foil products and plastic wrap and plastic bags, Reynolds, you scoundrel. In future, I shall partake of their products and let yours decline on the shelf, and may all your frozen meat be infested with freezer burn.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Someday We'll Look Back and Laugh
In years gone by, before MacDonald's and Wendy's and Burger King, every dime store and drug store had a lunch counter, commonly called a soda fountain. It was quite busy at lunch time with workers on a midday break or shoppers resting up between errands. They could get a sandwich - egg salad was my favorite - and a beverage. And a seat. And most times, you could bump into someone you knew and chat for a few minutes. There was an afternoon lull, and the busy time came again when the movie let out. Couples stopping in for a soda to continue the date a little longer. Singles having a dish of cream, hoping to extend human contact just a little more.
The soda fountain. Home to a sandwich or ice cream or even an "ammonia coke" if you were a bit weak from all your exertion. There was also pie. And coffee or tea. The taps, three of them, that dispensed Coca Cola, root beer and seltzer. The lower steel pumps that held the syrups - cherry, lemon, chocolate - at your fingertips with just a push. And the covered containers that held crushed strawberries, crushed pineapple, gooey marshmallow, nuts in syrup, cherries - all dispensed by the ladle in each. The bowl holding golden ripe bananas for splits. The tall stainless cup that held the syrup, seltzer and ice cream before it was slid onto the mixer to blend until the thick concoction was poured into a tall glass to be savored while giving your feet a rest.
And the soda jerk. No, really, that's what he was called. He wore a hygeinic lab coat and a white paper campaign cap. He expertly constructed a sandwich, whirled to remove the milk shake cylinder from the mixer and pour the drink into the tall fancy glass, delivering sandwich and shake simultaneously and planting the straw dead center into the shake with a flourish. Watch him split a banana expertly, lay it into the fancy oblong dish, layer it with three perfect scoops of chocolate, vanilla and strawberry ice cream. Top each in turn with crushed strawberries, crushed pineapple, chocolate syrup. A sprinkle of crushed peanuts over all and a generous mound of whipped cream. And then. And then. Three ruby-red maraschino cherries. A work of art! And he so young! Except I didn't care for those dry shards of peanut on my ice cream.
I was pregnant, very, with my first child. It was Summer and in D.C. that meant h.o.t. Hot as only D.C. can be in August. I had no a/c and the fan in my apartment couldn't even move the humid air, let alone cool it. I lumbered down to the drug store, on a mission to have a CMP and a tall glass of iced water. If you don't know, a CMP is a Chocolate Marshmallow Peanut sundae. I hoisted my preggo self onto a stool and rested my bare arms on the cool, marble counter. I watched as the soda jerk prepared a couple of dishes of ice cream for the Dad and his two little girls who were seeking respite from the heat, just as I was. At last, the young man stood before me and as he wiped the counter with a damp cloth, asked what I would like. I smiled sweetly and said, "I'd like a CMP, please, and do you have wet nuts?" His face turned red and he stared, unbelieving, at me. My face turned red and I fled the store. To this day, I have never had another CMP.
The soda fountain. Home to a sandwich or ice cream or even an "ammonia coke" if you were a bit weak from all your exertion. There was also pie. And coffee or tea. The taps, three of them, that dispensed Coca Cola, root beer and seltzer. The lower steel pumps that held the syrups - cherry, lemon, chocolate - at your fingertips with just a push. And the covered containers that held crushed strawberries, crushed pineapple, gooey marshmallow, nuts in syrup, cherries - all dispensed by the ladle in each. The bowl holding golden ripe bananas for splits. The tall stainless cup that held the syrup, seltzer and ice cream before it was slid onto the mixer to blend until the thick concoction was poured into a tall glass to be savored while giving your feet a rest.
And the soda jerk. No, really, that's what he was called. He wore a hygeinic lab coat and a white paper campaign cap. He expertly constructed a sandwich, whirled to remove the milk shake cylinder from the mixer and pour the drink into the tall fancy glass, delivering sandwich and shake simultaneously and planting the straw dead center into the shake with a flourish. Watch him split a banana expertly, lay it into the fancy oblong dish, layer it with three perfect scoops of chocolate, vanilla and strawberry ice cream. Top each in turn with crushed strawberries, crushed pineapple, chocolate syrup. A sprinkle of crushed peanuts over all and a generous mound of whipped cream. And then. And then. Three ruby-red maraschino cherries. A work of art! And he so young! Except I didn't care for those dry shards of peanut on my ice cream.
I was pregnant, very, with my first child. It was Summer and in D.C. that meant h.o.t. Hot as only D.C. can be in August. I had no a/c and the fan in my apartment couldn't even move the humid air, let alone cool it. I lumbered down to the drug store, on a mission to have a CMP and a tall glass of iced water. If you don't know, a CMP is a Chocolate Marshmallow Peanut sundae. I hoisted my preggo self onto a stool and rested my bare arms on the cool, marble counter. I watched as the soda jerk prepared a couple of dishes of ice cream for the Dad and his two little girls who were seeking respite from the heat, just as I was. At last, the young man stood before me and as he wiped the counter with a damp cloth, asked what I would like. I smiled sweetly and said, "I'd like a CMP, please, and do you have wet nuts?" His face turned red and he stared, unbelieving, at me. My face turned red and I fled the store. To this day, I have never had another CMP.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Two Years Clean
Today I saw the surgeon. The very nice man who rearranged my digestive system. I've been seeing him every three months for the past two years. With the exception of a few times early on in the first year when there was a glitch or two that required more frequent seeing, or on his part, looking. Everything is pretty much as it was before the cancer was removed, along with some of my original parts. At this point, all test results - CT scans and blood work - show that there has been no recurrence. This is, of course, good news. And while I would wish that some of my issues would go away, I am required to take the doctor's optimism at face value, and believe that I can continue to live a good life.
So I left his office with instructions to increase some of my medication, get a repeat blood test to check for carcinogenic embryonic antigens (CEA), and a return appointment in six months. Yep, six months. It seems that reaching two years without a recurrence is a big deal and we can extend the time between appointments.
That leaves the oncologist, the cardiologist, Mammogramist (?), and of course, my primary care physician. Not to mention the G.I. Guy who does the colonoscopy. With all these professionals taking care of my health, I should live forever. As if.
So I left his office with instructions to increase some of my medication, get a repeat blood test to check for carcinogenic embryonic antigens (CEA), and a return appointment in six months. Yep, six months. It seems that reaching two years without a recurrence is a big deal and we can extend the time between appointments.
That leaves the oncologist, the cardiologist, Mammogramist (?), and of course, my primary care physician. Not to mention the G.I. Guy who does the colonoscopy. With all these professionals taking care of my health, I should live forever. As if.
Monday, February 7, 2011
Don't Yell!
Okay, okay. I haven't been around. And you miss me. Yeah, right. When I started this, I fully intended to write every day. So far, I isn't working. But, hey, I have other things to do.
I wake up about 5 am ish every morning, drink my coffee (Love that programmable pot!) and read the paper. That would be the Times Leader. I do the Jumble, the Cryptogram and Sudoku. Then another coffee with my morning bagel. Check the e-mail, read a blog or two, do a jigsaw puzzle. Really heady stuff.
About this time, I'm doing the dishes (from the previous night's supper). Make whatever calls I have to make. Usually calling a doctor's office for refills of prescriptions. Write a check or two to pay my bills. Look around to see what needs attention - dusting, vacuuming, tidying. That doesn't mean I'm going to dust, vacuum or tidy.
I look through the store flyers to see if there are any sales on items I might need. I note which stores have the deals and plan to get there at some point during the week. Of course, I don't always make it, but I plan, I plan.
About every three weeks, I have a load of laundry to do. Wash, dry and fold. There's a 65 minute job done.
Now that the clothes are clean, I'll shower and change. By now, it's time to think about lunch. Make lunch. Eat lunch. Rest up from the exertion of lunch.
Read a bit. Take out the trash. Rest up from the exertion.
Watch Cold Case. Think about supper. Have a snack while I think about supper. Cook supper. Eat supper. Put the dishes in the sink. Rest up.
Watch the news, a little TV. Read. Pretty soon it's time to think about going to bed. Which is a whole thought process of its own, never mind the planning that goes into it.
So you can see that with all the planning and resting up, there isn't a lot of time to get on in here and blog.
I ask that you don't yell at me for several reasons. Even though I intend to blog every day, what with all the other things that require my attention, I sometimes get so bogged down in the minutiae of my days that I'm too exhausted to do much else. You do see, don't you?
While it's nice to know that you miss me, it's important that you understand how screamingly busy I am. If I promise to do better, you must promise not to yell. Thank you.
I wake up about 5 am ish every morning, drink my coffee (Love that programmable pot!) and read the paper. That would be the Times Leader. I do the Jumble, the Cryptogram and Sudoku. Then another coffee with my morning bagel. Check the e-mail, read a blog or two, do a jigsaw puzzle. Really heady stuff.
About this time, I'm doing the dishes (from the previous night's supper). Make whatever calls I have to make. Usually calling a doctor's office for refills of prescriptions. Write a check or two to pay my bills. Look around to see what needs attention - dusting, vacuuming, tidying. That doesn't mean I'm going to dust, vacuum or tidy.
I look through the store flyers to see if there are any sales on items I might need. I note which stores have the deals and plan to get there at some point during the week. Of course, I don't always make it, but I plan, I plan.
About every three weeks, I have a load of laundry to do. Wash, dry and fold. There's a 65 minute job done.
Now that the clothes are clean, I'll shower and change. By now, it's time to think about lunch. Make lunch. Eat lunch. Rest up from the exertion of lunch.
Read a bit. Take out the trash. Rest up from the exertion.
Watch Cold Case. Think about supper. Have a snack while I think about supper. Cook supper. Eat supper. Put the dishes in the sink. Rest up.
Watch the news, a little TV. Read. Pretty soon it's time to think about going to bed. Which is a whole thought process of its own, never mind the planning that goes into it.
So you can see that with all the planning and resting up, there isn't a lot of time to get on in here and blog.
I ask that you don't yell at me for several reasons. Even though I intend to blog every day, what with all the other things that require my attention, I sometimes get so bogged down in the minutiae of my days that I'm too exhausted to do much else. You do see, don't you?
While it's nice to know that you miss me, it's important that you understand how screamingly busy I am. If I promise to do better, you must promise not to yell. Thank you.
Friday, December 3, 2010
Something for Everybody
Well, there truly is something for everybody...who's dumb enough to fall for it. The "send us your unwanted gold and we'll send you a fortune" ads have slowly been fading away, although they do appear on the insomnia channels. I can't imagine anyone with a lick of sense would be willing to put something as valuable as gold into an envelope and send it off to some unknown entity and expect to get anything back, let alone get back enough to match the value of what they put in aforesaid envelope. But I suppose there were enough people willing to do it that enough profit was generated to pay for the commercials. Good Lord, people, don't you have a jeweler near where you live? Where you could take your unwanted gold and get an estimate of the value? And see if it matches what gold is selling for on the open market? Having done that, couldn't you ask the jeweler how much he would willingly pay for what you have to sell? You would then have the right to accept or refuse on the spot. Bearing in mind that while it may not be the market price, it should be only slightly less than that, and you would be able to decide if it was worth selling.
But the newest one has me wondering - how many people are being taken in by this? Perhaps you have seen the commercial for CardWOO. "Send my your tired, your poor -" Oh, wait. That's not it. Oh, yes, here it is - You send for a prepaid envelope to ship your gift cards in the hope of getting cash for those cards you just don't want. Why wouldn't you want them, you may ask? The commercial tells me that some people don't like the store, can't find anything they want in the store, would rather have cash, etc, etc. So here comes your envelope and you load it up with all those gift cards "cluttering up your junk drawer or your wallet". And you think that in a few days all that money will roll in and you can pay off your mortgage or buy that Ferrari or book a cruise. Fuhgeddaboudid. Not gonna happen. Go to the company web site and read it. (take a sandwich with you 'cuz it's really long. It will tell you absolutely nothing. Oh, well, it will tell you that they will decide if they want to buy your cards or not. They will decide how much they will pay you for your cards. They will NOT be responsible if your cards, in their prepaid envelope, never reach the company red flag, red flag! And if they reject your cards and send them back, they won't be responsible if they never reach you. There are sooooo many opportunities for deception here. I didn't say you were being deceived. No, I didn't. I said there were opportunities. But anyone who buys into this without being fully informed has no one else to blame if it has a less than happy ending.
If I get a card and I can't use it, I'll wait for an appropriate occasion to re-gift it. You can do what you want.
But the newest one has me wondering - how many people are being taken in by this? Perhaps you have seen the commercial for CardWOO. "Send my your tired, your poor -" Oh, wait. That's not it. Oh, yes, here it is - You send for a prepaid envelope to ship your gift cards in the hope of getting cash for those cards you just don't want. Why wouldn't you want them, you may ask? The commercial tells me that some people don't like the store, can't find anything they want in the store, would rather have cash, etc, etc. So here comes your envelope and you load it up with all those gift cards "cluttering up your junk drawer or your wallet". And you think that in a few days all that money will roll in and you can pay off your mortgage or buy that Ferrari or book a cruise. Fuhgeddaboudid. Not gonna happen. Go to the company web site and read it. (take a sandwich with you 'cuz it's really long. It will tell you absolutely nothing. Oh, well, it will tell you that they will decide if they want to buy your cards or not. They will decide how much they will pay you for your cards. They will NOT be responsible if your cards, in their prepaid envelope, never reach the company red flag, red flag! And if they reject your cards and send them back, they won't be responsible if they never reach you. There are sooooo many opportunities for deception here. I didn't say you were being deceived. No, I didn't. I said there were opportunities. But anyone who buys into this without being fully informed has no one else to blame if it has a less than happy ending.
If I get a card and I can't use it, I'll wait for an appropriate occasion to re-gift it. You can do what you want.
Friday, November 26, 2010
Where've You Been?
I haven't been here so if you've been looking for me, I'm still around. Been trying to dispose of junk, junque, and just plain crap. In between, I've been shampooing carpet, a section at a time. I cannot believe it's Holiday Time again. And as usual, I try to do everything at once and end up by not finishing any of it.
I spent Thanksgiving Day doing exactly what I wanted to do. Which was nothing. Now as usual, my family dinner will happen on Sunday, and I'll enjoy it because someone else will cook it for me. It's a tradition I started many years ago when my youngest two always had "other plans" (read girlfriend) and I began accepting invitations from older, already married, sons. So I would cook my family dinner on Friday or Saturday, depending on individual schedules. It worked quite well for many years until the youngest got married and had his own home and family. He went to his in-laws on THE day, and I to somewhere else. So youngest's wife decided that she would continue my tradition and have a dinner for me. (I don't do in-laws, even though I'm invited.) Don't misunderstand - I have nothing against in-laws, but they come in large quantities and I don't do well in crowds, unless it's my own crowd. And even my own crowd, much as I love 'em, is only tolerable for limited periods.
I had to go out today for milk, the bank, and the dry cleaners. You will notice that I did not mention Black Friday Door Busters, which are, to my mind, a bunch of hoo-hah. Or as Colonel Potter used to say, mule muffins. Haven't heard any reports of violence, but I'm sure that somewhere in the country it got out of hand and tomorrow's news will have all the gory details.
The bank wasn't busy, and I was in, made a deposit, and out in less than three minutes. The market, where I bought the milk, wasn't too busy and I was in and out of there with dispatch. The dry cleaner's had two ahead of me but still not a long delay. I did make an unscheduled stop at the hardware store for some lamp repair stuff - same story, in and out. My Black Friday commerce took me all of about 35 minutes, including travel time. No bargains, but no crazy crowds either.
So I will wait for my Sunday turkey and smirk at the wild and wacky people who got up at 3:30 AM when they could have slept in.
I spent Thanksgiving Day doing exactly what I wanted to do. Which was nothing. Now as usual, my family dinner will happen on Sunday, and I'll enjoy it because someone else will cook it for me. It's a tradition I started many years ago when my youngest two always had "other plans" (read girlfriend) and I began accepting invitations from older, already married, sons. So I would cook my family dinner on Friday or Saturday, depending on individual schedules. It worked quite well for many years until the youngest got married and had his own home and family. He went to his in-laws on THE day, and I to somewhere else. So youngest's wife decided that she would continue my tradition and have a dinner for me. (I don't do in-laws, even though I'm invited.) Don't misunderstand - I have nothing against in-laws, but they come in large quantities and I don't do well in crowds, unless it's my own crowd. And even my own crowd, much as I love 'em, is only tolerable for limited periods.
I had to go out today for milk, the bank, and the dry cleaners. You will notice that I did not mention Black Friday Door Busters, which are, to my mind, a bunch of hoo-hah. Or as Colonel Potter used to say, mule muffins. Haven't heard any reports of violence, but I'm sure that somewhere in the country it got out of hand and tomorrow's news will have all the gory details.
The bank wasn't busy, and I was in, made a deposit, and out in less than three minutes. The market, where I bought the milk, wasn't too busy and I was in and out of there with dispatch. The dry cleaner's had two ahead of me but still not a long delay. I did make an unscheduled stop at the hardware store for some lamp repair stuff - same story, in and out. My Black Friday commerce took me all of about 35 minutes, including travel time. No bargains, but no crazy crowds either.
So I will wait for my Sunday turkey and smirk at the wild and wacky people who got up at 3:30 AM when they could have slept in.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
