Posted tagged ‘birthday dinner’

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“I make no secret of the fact that I would rather lie on a sofa than sweep beneath it.”

April 29, 2017

Today is cloudy and damp. It is supposed to be a warm day with the temperature reaching the mid 60’s, but it had better clear up quickly as it is a threatening sky. When Gracie and I went out, I waited for her and by the time I got inside I was chilly.

Gracie and I had a bad night. Falling asleep was difficult so I gave up trying around 2:30 and turned on the TV. It was 4 on my last time check before I finally fell into the arms of Morpheus. Poor Gracie was restless, and it was my fault.

When I was a kid, the Saturday night menu never changed. We always had hot dogs, baked beans, and brown bread. I never ate the beans, but I did eat the brown bread and loved the hot dogs. The brown bread came in a can. I used to butter it. Sometimes my mother fried it a bit. That was my favorite way to eat brown bread. I think it tasted better warm than cold. A while back, I bought a can of brown bread. I figure I was overwhelmed with nostalgia. When I opened the can of bread, I easily remembered the indentations circling it. I always thought they were a design. I toasted the bread then buttered it. I was shocked to find I didn’t like the taste all that much. I guess my memories have been tempered by time.

My dirty clothes have been sitting in front of the cellar door for over a week. When I was working, I did my laundry every Sunday. I lived by a weekend schedule. Now that I have all the time in the world, I do it when the mood hits me or when I am out of clean underwear. It’s the same with going to the dump which was another Sunday chore. I went the other day. I could smell the bag in my trunk. It was either leave all my windows open or go on an unscheduled dump run. Gracie was thrilled with my choice and so was I. The car smelled much better in a day or two with the windows cracked open.

I figure I inherited doing weekend chores from my father. Saturday was his big day. It was get a haircut or trim day, pick-up and leave his white shirts at the Chinaman’s, as my dad called the laundry, and drop in to say hello to friends like Pullo the druggist. When my dad retired, his schedule fell all to pieces. He didn’t need to get shirts cleaned. He let his hair get just a bit longer, and he didn’t go uptown anywhere near as often. I figure retirement means throwing out any schedule.

This morning I have a couple of errands. Tonight is Darci Rose’s tenth birthday dinner. She is a Westie who thinks of me as Aunt Kat or at least I think so. I need to buy her birthday presents.

The sun is coming out. Let’s hear a halleluiah!

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“Without Spam, we wouldn’t have been able to feed our army.”

August 18, 2014

This room is chilly. It still holds the cold from last night, and the sun won’t be here until late afternoon. Most mornings I love sitting here, but not this morning. I need sun and warmth and maybe even some socks.

My birthday was wonderful. It was a two-day gala. The culminating event was going out for the birthday dinner last night. My friend and I celebrate each other’s birthdays that way. We decided a long time ago we didn’t need more things, but we need time together as we don’t see each other as often as we did. Usually it doesn’t happen on the exact day but it always happens. The timing isn’t important. It’s dinner with a friend that counts.

Today is Gracie’s favorite day, dump day. It’s also laundry day. They are both quite a comedown from all the festivities of the weekend. My tenure as queen was short-lived.

I don’t know if Hormel is offended or pleased that the mailbox for useless, unwanted e-mail is called spam. For me the word always brings to mind Monty Python’s Spam sketch and the Vikings singing. It also brings to mind my father. He loved Spam. He first ate it during World War II and all his life after that. Mostly he’d put it in sandwiches but sometimes he’d fry with his eggs. My sister became a Spam fan. She even has a pair of tiny Spam can earrings. The gelatinous goop, aspic I guess, makes the newly opened Spam sort of gross looking. Its pedigree is sometimes in question. My favorite Spam story is when my sister was invited to her in-laws for dinner. Her mother-in-law said they were having a pork roast. A square of Spam dotted with cloves, decoratively applied, arrived on a small platter and with a flourish was placed in the middle of the table. That is about as exalted as Spam will ever get. My sister managed not to laugh or gag and did eat some of that pork roast. I don’t think I’ve ever bought Spam though I am impressed at how many different flavors there are now. There is even a Spam spread should you need an extra appetizer. Most impressive is that Spam can last for years. I’m thinking a Spam jalapeño sandwich with melted Velveeta cheese. If you aren’t hungry for it now, just wait a few years. It will still be good.

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“She used to say she could taste sleep and that it was as delicious as a BLT on fresh French bread.”

August 19, 2013

This  morning was a put a mirror under her nose to see if she’s still breathing type of morning. The alarm woke me at 8 so I could go to breakfast at 9, but I called my friend and cancelled. I was just too tired. Going back to sleep was no problem nor was sleeping two more hours. Even Gracie and Fern settled back down on the bed with me; however, I’m now awake and they’re not. Both are having their morning naps: Fern in the sun and Gracie in her crate. I can hear Gracie’s snores all the way down the hall.

Yesterday my friends gave me a birthday dinner. We sat on the deck and played our card game, Phase 10, before dinner and I won. The crowd cheered. Okay, no crowd was there, but had they been, they would have cheered loudly and maybe even given me a standing O. During the game, it started to rain, but we stayed dry under the umbrella. We heard the best of sounds, the drops of rain hitting the umbrella above us. It would rain then stop for a while then rain again. After the game, we left the rain and the deck and went inside for dinner. I ate only a little as I wasn’t feeling tip-top, but I did manage to scoff down the desert: lemon brownies. I got a plateful of dinner to take home so I’ll enjoy it today.

The only low point of the evening was the Sox lost to the dreaded Yankees. At one point in the game, it looked as if there would be a melee. That was right after A-Rod got hit by the ball when he was at bat. The crowd cheered the hit on A-Rod then the benches cleared and the bullpens came in just in case, but nothing happened except Girardi got tossed out for throwing his hat on the dirt in front of the umpire while he was screaming at the guy for not tossing out the pitcher. I understand his anger but tossing his hat is a bit childish. A-Rod later hit a home run, his sort of revenge.

Today is a take it easy day. I have a chore or two, but nothing imperative. I’m even thinking I might have an afternoon nap. The day is sunny but pleasantly cool and tonight will be even cooler, a good night for sleeping. That sounds most appealing.

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“Summer’s lease hath all too short a date.”

August 19, 2010

The morning is lovely. The late rain last night chased away yesterday’s humidity, and the day is bright with air so clear it accentuates all the color and beauty around me.

Yesterday I was an extra in The Birds, Part II. Crows came and five or six just sat on my deck rail and stared. Others perched on branches and a few hung off the suet feeder taking giant mouthfuls. I looked around for a phone booth just in case.

My birthday was perfect. When I opened my front door, there was a giant mum so big I couldn’t even get out the door. I finally grabbed the edge of the planter, tilted it away from the door and squeezed my way outside. The plant was from my friends Tony and Clare. They always start my birthday in the most spectacular way. My family called throughout the day with a few songs and well wishes, and I went to Tony and Clare’s for dinner. They made my favorites. Clare made deviled eggs, and Tony cooked a rib eye on the grill, and, despite the heat and humidity, Clare managed to whip up my lemon meringue pie for dessert. We played a card game. As befitting the birthday girl, I won and a bit later so did the Red Sox. Birthdays are lucky I guess.

Labor Day is not even three weeks away. Summer seems to go so fast now we have to grab on so as not to miss it. When I was little, it was different. The summer seemed endless. The days were long, and I swear every one of them was sunny. It was always noisy, even at night. My neighborhood was bursting with kids who played in the backyard and they were never quiet. The field near my house had a population of grasshoppers who sang all day, and the swamp had frogs. All the neighbors’ windows were open, and I could hear the murmurings of their voices. We never cared what day it was or even what month. I did take note of my birthday, but that was it. The rest of the days started and ended in anonymity. It was always a shock to hear my mother announce a school shopping day.

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