Posted tagged ‘Mashed potato’

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“The noblest of all dogs is the hot-dog; it feeds the hand that bites it.”

March 27, 2012

No lingering today to take in the morning: it was too cold. I hurried inside with my two papers in hand and found the house warm and filled with the smell of freshly brewed coffee. I sighed.

True to my word, I stayed home yesterday. I did laundry but I didn’t even make my bed. The two cats were lolled on the comforter when I went upstairs, and I didn’t have the heart to roust them. After all, Maddie has been doing a bang-up job dispatching mice so I figured this was a small reward. Right now they are sleeping in the sun from the front door.

The sun is bright and the sky blue, but they’re deceiving. It’s looks like a lovely day, a day to enjoy the sun, but it’s still cold at 33°. The male cardinal came back and found the feeder I had filled with a special seed cardinals like. He’s hanging around perched on branches near the feeders so I guess he’s happy with my offering. The feeders hanging on tree limbs are swaying back and forth in the wind. The birds don’t seem to mind. They just sit and eat and sway.

When I was young, I wanted snow but not rain. I wanted to ride my bike as soon as the weather allowed. I ate vegetables but those I didn’t eat far out-numbered those I did. I loved to make a mound of my mashed potatoes and would put an indentation in the middle. That was for the gravy, and I used to try my best not to let the gravy overflow the mound. I only used ketchup on my French fries, never my eggs and never on hot dogs. I loved Rice Krispies but not Cheerios. I always put sugar on my cereal. The best part was lifting the bowl and drinking the sugary milk left when all the cereal had been eaten. I could never cut the bologna off the roll thin enough. My sandwiches all looked deformed. My mother always bought French’s yellow mustard in the small glass jar and Cains mayonnaise which is locally made. I always put mustard on my bologna. My mother put small slits down hot dogs then she’d fry them until they were browned. My mother was a believer in butter, never margarine. I preferred soft-boiled eggs when I was young because it was fun to dip the toast in the yolk. The game was to try not to get any yolk down the egg cup. I usually lost.

Now, I prefer rain over snow. I eat more kinds of vegetables than I don’t. I buy my bologna sliced, thinly. I never buy yellow mustard. I love all sorts of mustards and always three or four different kinds are in the fridge. I seldom eat cereal, but if I do, I don’t add sugar. Once in a while I have a soft-boiled egg but I don’t put it in an egg cup. It goes in a bowl, and I use crumbled crackers instead of toast. My mother used to do that, and now I do. I love hot dogs on the grill, and I always put slits down the length. I can’t imagine eating them in other way.

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“If the only prayer you said in your whole life was, “thank you,” that would suffice.”

November 24, 2011

My mother used to wake up around five to make the stuffing then she’d stuff the turkey and put it in the oven. I’d wake up to the aroma of turkey wafting through the house. We four kids would settle in front of the TV, still in our pajamas, and watch the Thanksgiving Day parade. We’d snack on tangerines, mixed nuts still in the shell and M&M’s. We’d fight over using the nucracker. Dinner was usually around two, and it was always pretty much the same menu: turkey, my mother’s wonderful stuffing, mashed potatoes, gravy, cranberry sauce with the decorative ridges from the can, peas, asparagus in the can for my father and a roving vegetable, a different one each year. Dessert was always pie: an apple and a lemon meringue and sometimes a blueberry cobbler. The kitchen was small and always hot from the turkey cooking. The windows were steamed. My dad always wanted the drumstick, and the rest of us usually chose the white meat. When we got older, we’d also eat the dark. I remember making the well in my mashed potatoes for the gravy and trying hard not to let it overflow the bank of potatoes. Our plates were groaning and so were we after dinner. My dad watched football, and the rest of us sometimes played a game or just sat around talking. My mother always cleaned up after dinner.

Today I am thankful for so many things. I am thankful for the love of my family and friends, and I am thankful for a head filled with incredible memories and for a childhood which had wonder and joy. Marty Barrett will always have my thanks. It was he who infected me with Barrett’s disease, my envy for his trips to England when he visited his grandmother. When I was eleven, I vowed to out-travel Marty, and I’m betting I have. I am thankful for all of you who have become my friends even though we have never met in person. I wish you all the blessings of the day and a wonderful Thanksgiving.

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“Some of the most important conversations I’ve ever had occurred at my family’s dinner table.”

November 13, 2011

Today is seasonably chilly with a cold breeze. The leaves on the oak tree have turned brown, and every time the wind blows, a few fall to the ground. Soon enough the oak tree will be bare.

Fewer birds than usual are at the feeders, and the spawns of Satan also seem to be among the missing. I have only seen the red spawn. I don’t know where his gray cousins are.

I have never had huge expectations for Sundays which dates, I think, from when I was little and, by default, Sunday was family day. The morning always started with church, sometimes with my dad, the usher, sometimes just by ourselves, my brother and me. I remember my dad used to give each of us a dime for the collection basket. When the time came, I’d watch him walk to the front of the church carrying his basket. Once there, he’d kneel then stand and pass the basket down each row. The handle of the basket was so long it reached all the way down to the end of the pews in the center aisle. I was always a bit proud when I could add my dime to the basket. It made me feel older some how. My dad would drive us home, but he always stopped for the paper first. Sometimes he’d stop so we could get a donut. I liked jelly donuts back then. My dad liked plain.

When I got home, I’d change out of my Sunday clothes into my play clothes though most Sundays, other than in the summer, I never went outside to play. I’d lie on the rug in the living room and read the comics. I never found the rest of the paper interesting when I was little. The Sunday movie started at noon, and we’d gather around and watch. The only movie I still remember watching was Lassie Come Home. It made me cry.

My mother was always in the kitchen preparing Sunday dinner. During the week we had lunch in the afternoon and then supper at night, but on Sundays we had dinner. I always thought it was called dinner because it was the best meal of the whole week. We sometimes had a roast beef or a roast pork or chicken, always mashed potatoes and a couple of vegetables, out of cans back then. There was never enough room at the table. The kitchen was small. My mother often stood up by the stove near the table to eat. Even years later, when there was room, she’d still stand at the counter and eat. I thought it was strange until I remembered those Sunday dinners and that small kitchen and the table against the wall.

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“When gardeners garden, it is not just plants that grow, but the gardeners themselves.”

February 17, 2011

The weather is amazing today. Even though the sun is in and out, it is still in the high 40’s and will even reach the 50’s, almost spring weather. I have a few errands after this, and I can’t wait to open the windows to smell the fresh air.

Yesterday I saw my surgeon who figured out why my right leg still hurts. It seems that whatever he put between the screws has moved and is lying on a nerve and that is causing all the pain. The only solution is to fix it through surgery. He also figured he’d add screws to the corresponding bone on the other side. They then should reinforce each other. I knew he didn’t use Gorilla Glue.

My garden shoots are even higher. I keep a daily watch. None of the garden centers are open yet, but that will come soon enough. This year I’m adding a small vegetable garden in the back yard. I’ll start some in the house and then transplant them. No zucchini! It is like a monster from outer space which can replicate itself to take over the planet.

I don’t remember squash when I was a kid. I think my mother decided not to try it on us as she had enough trouble getting us to eat carrots. She used to mix them with the mashed potatoes. We never asked. We just thought mashed potatoes were multicolored. I always like peas so they were served even though my brother hated them. I don’t remember any other vegetables served when we were young. I guess my mother picked her battles.

I’m always proud when stuff grows in my garden because I’m not a gardener. I buy flowers by color, and every year the perennials come right back all on their own without any help from me. My herb garden flourishes, and I love snipping what I need to make a dish using herbs from my own garden. I have high hopes for the vegetable garden. I’m way past mixing my carrots and potatoes.

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