Tag: food

Can You Reach This Please?

“They got little baby legs And they stand so low You got to pick ’em up Just to say hello…” Randy Newman song Short People

There seems to be a problem in grocery and big-box stores and I’m not talking about the fact that a cantaloupe is more expensive than a Ferrari.

In a world where people are obsessed with inclusion and every other feeling known to humans and nonhumans, it seems rather impossible that a certain portion of the population is overlooked. They are under helped and as unseen as a woman over fifty in Los Angeles. I’m talking of course about the enormous amount of vertically challenged people.

Yes, those who are short and getting shorter every year. The ones who have a problem with height issues that preclude them from reaching shelves in grocery and big box stores.

The short and constantly reaching can’t access food or merchandise they seek without waiting for a tall person to walk down their aisle. Even finding a sales or stock person to help you is a feat of gigantic proportion today.

Why does the food that I always want have to be on a shelf only the Jolly Green Giant could reach?

Would it be so awful to put the organic cream cheese on a lower shelf? Try reaching for a bottle on a shelf so high it makes Mars seem close.

Oddly, many of these foods are not inconsequential. Some I have found difficult to obtain have been necessary products. The other day, I searched in vain for a container of whipping cream and it was on a top shelf. Cream, honestly? And the dairy shelves are not easy to manuever. They are slanted and covered so you can’t really get close enough to stretch and reach. Could the stores make it any harder for us short people to shop?

Walking around Costco I always think of Chicken Little’s warning, the sky is falling…

In Costco you are in fear of sofas, rugs, canned goods and caramel corn falling from those top shelves. Those boxes loom large overhead. Carefully you stroll through the aisles hoping to be able to get out of there without mortgaging your house to pay. But that’s another blog.

What can a short person do when shopping to reach those items so far out of reach?

It’s almost embarrassing having to stand around waiting for a tall person to get down a brick of gouda.

Should we carry a step stool in our tote? Or perhaps the grocery stores could occasionally shift the order of how high the food is. Like putting things nobody eats on the top shelves. That might be a novel idea. Try spelt, whatever that is.

Getting older is fraught with issues no one wants to admit or deal with. We walk into rooms and forget why. Suddenly foods turn against us that have been friends our entire lives. Our metabolism retires and moves to Boca Raton while we are still craving a piece of carrot cake. We need to keep turning the heat up in the house because it’s so damn cold.

And to have to be reminded every time one goes shopping that we are shrinking even more, well that’s just cruel.

Maybe someone could invent a pair of shoes that has a button on the side, It cranks up a ladder on your soles that adds five inches to your height. Or maybe special shopping lifts you insert when you need them. Like MGM used to do with Paul Newman and all the leading men who were five five or shorter.

Many short women wear platform shoes or high heels and this helps a bit. I wouldn’t know since my feet banned me from wearing any heels or platforms in 1999.

It’s also very obvious the candy, baked goods, chips and junk food is located on only the middle and lowest shelves. Easy to see, easy to grab.

I find it particularly annoying that some of the things I need, like spices, are on shelves too high to read the small print on these products.

Hello, do I also need a telescope to shop now?

I know everyone who is normal or tall height out there is saying, “I have no idea what she’s talking about. It all seems pretty reachable to me.”

You’re wondering why I make an issue about such a minor thing as reaching groceries on high shelves.

It’s not a gigantic deal. But to someone who is shrinking yearly and was short to begin with, it’s another reminder that time is doing weird stuff to my body. I’m not happy about this state of events. I didn’t vote on this whole ouch-this-hurts-thing. Waking up in the morning is a bigger adventure than Indiana Jones when you find out there’s another mystery pain somewhere.

Yes, yes, I’m very lucky to be getting older and complaining about it isn’t going to change anything. But the whole shorter shelf thing has nothing to do with old. It’s a problem many stores face, but take no time to remedy. I’m sure many young vertically challenged people agree.

I’m sure if they organized the merchandise so there is more variety on the lower shelves it would help. Do you really need fifteen bags of miniature Milky Ways on the same shelf at all times?

I probably have too much time on my hands. I’m finding silly things like waiting for tall people in grocery stores to reach my merch to write about.

Just another tall person perk. They reach stuff, eat stuff and don’t gain weight. At least tall people fat has somewhere to go and spread out. I admit I have height envy, is there a group for that?

Hello, my name is Norma Zager and I’m short. You can’t see me? Well get me a chair to stand on for heaven’s sake.

Okay, so there is an upside to this tirade. I admit reaching a few less food items would probably be a good thing anyway.

Just trying to see the sunny side of life here. I’d drink some orange juice for my vitamin C and extra sunshine, but I couldn’t reach it…

Holidays are Happy, Bittersweet Memory-Filled Moments

As a child waiting for the holidays seemed endless. Watching the cooking, cleaning and preparations were always such a thrill. Activity created a kind of ambiance in the home that lingered there like the smell of an apple pie in the oven as it bubbles and browns.

The table would be filled with family and sometimes friends. There was always a cornucopia of great food to eat and enjoy with out anyone monitoring how many helpings of dessert or whipped potatoes you downed.

When I got married and was suddenly the one in charge of the festivities, it became different. Oh of course there was still that vibe of expectancy in the air, but now it was suddenly me who must provide the food and create the holiday. Now a new dimension was added to the soup…stress. Cooking, cleaning, shopping, gift wrapping and counting chairs and table settings gave me something new to focus on beside the previous, “Oh boy Mom’s making my favorite potatoes this year.” And yes in case you noticed, potatoes are a running theme throughout this tome for good reasons.

Most holidays I shared phone conversation and recipes with my friend Marcia as we stuffed the fridge with numerous holiday favorite. These became foods we made year after year and had become as much a part of the ritual as the actual holiday itself.

Yes, it was joyous, happy and laced with the added responsibility of shopping, cooking and all the other tasks involved in preparing a dinner. I embraced it totally and reveled in every moment I spent ensuring a delicious and gut-busting meal was on that table.

The food was a big part of the entire holiday preparation agenda. There were also presents to buy, new clothes, carrying extra chairs up from the basement and reminding my husband ten times to get the good silver down from the top of the closet.

All of these yearly rituals marked the beginning of what was hoped would be a joyous day with family.

And truth be told, no matter how hard one tried it didn’t always turn out as planned. Yet in retrospective all the memories gleaned from these moments are now a priceless photo in the album of one’s life.

Sadly, looking back on past holidays fills one with a sense of bittersweet sadness that can so easily cloud the spirit of the present.

Looking at the present table, although filled with joy at seeing my children and grandchildren, there is a deep sadness that so many chairs are empty now. Yes, this is a part of life that sadly seeps into the holiday spirit. I have learned the only way to ensure a joyous occasion is to focus solely on those who are there and wipe out memories that threaten to impede on any joy.

But is this what we are truly supposed to feel?

Shouldn’t we use a holiday to remember and call up those who are no longer with us? Is this the right moment to unleash memories or should they be saved for another time?

It makes one wonder what is exactly the right balance in these situations.

I myself have had a difficult time. I strive to live in the present and extract every bit of happiness from the moment and then I suddenly find a memory creeping in as I see the brisket or a honey cake the way a favorite aunt made it, or any one of a thousand childhood memories.

I’ve come to the conclusion holidays are the very essence of bittersweet. As we go through our lives everyday the business and demands of our routine often leave little time for reminiscing. Perhaps that is why the holidays allow us to stop and savor the present, albeit tinged with hints of memory perhaps designed to include those now gone. Bittersweet as it is and always will be there is something very special about allowing the past to join us at the table. To fill a seat once more. Not to sadden the present or create new memories, but to ensure the old ones are never forgotten. If there is an afterlife, I would like to believe when they pass the potatoes I’ll be sitting at the table with my family once more and enjoying a second helping as well, with the added benefit of no calories!

For the time being we must accept that those we love still join us at every occasion to be part of the celebration. There is no time limit on loving and missing those who are no longer here. There is only that small ache that seems to appear from time to time to remind us not to forget.

Happy holidays to everyone and enjoy all the happy moments both joyous and bittersweet!

All Great Inventions Began With Women

I am so tired of hearing men talk about how women nag. What in the world defines nagging. Perhaps we should switch it around and say men don’t do things on the first five times they are asked. So women are merely inspiring them.

Now that makes more sense to me.

One never hears about the fact that all great inventions throughout time have been inspired by women. And the fact men don’t always respond to first requests.

No, this is not a sexist rant so just go with me please. I shall gladly explain.

For example, the trash compactor is the direct result of women asking their husbands to take out the garbage. How many men have been sitting in front of the television watching football and heard their wife call out from the kitchen.

“Honey, take out the garbage, please.”

 No response.

“The garbage is overflowing I need you to take it to the can, please.”

No response except a whoop from the den about some field goal.

“Hello, the garbage isn’t going to take itself out.”

No response.

The wife enters the room.

Her husband looks up innocently.

“Didn’t you hear me ask you to take out the garbage?”

“I was watching that last play. It was amazing you should have seen Mahomes? The guy’s beyond great. Do we have any more of those potato skins left?”

“The garbage is overflowing. I need you to take it outside. The next commercial you can grab the bag and not miss a play.”

“Sure, sure as soon as the game is over. And could you check on those skins please? I almost forgot, are those wings done yet?”

“You said that hours ago.” Wife sighs, husband returns to game.

At some point in the evolution of man one husband took a minute to focus on what his wife was asking.

He inquired, “Why can’t you take out the garbage?”

Leaving the hospital after having the can of Budweiser removed from his ass, he pondered the question of why men have to do garbage duty.

Wait. he thought, perhaps there is a way to delay the inevitable. Why not just crush up the trash to allow room for more. Then less trips to the garbage can.

And thus the trash compactor was born. And yes, we have women to thank for that one.

Now we turn to the refrigerator.

In the beginning I imagine a woman discovered that she could keep leftovers from spoiling when they accidentely dropped into an icy snowbank.

“Oh look,” she told her husband. “This leftover deer is still fresh. Can you build me a box that’s cold enough to keep leftovers in?”

Man decided this would greatly lessen his need to hunt so often and spend more time on other pursuits. So he thought long and hard about how best to accomplish his wife’s request.

Hmmm, he thought. Maybe I can cut down a tree, hollow it out and fill it with ice. Then she can put the meat inside.

It caught on quickly and soon everyone in the area were making tree freezers.

Women were ecstatic to have this convenience.

On a roll now, next, women wondered why they had to leave the cave in freezing weather to cook the food over a fire.

“Hey, Hymie, Can you make a cooking pit inside the cave for me? It’s too cold to stand outside and roast a moose.”

Despite thinking her a bit demanding since he had just created a frozen tree, he relented. Not wanting to be kept away from fun time with his bros, he quickly found a spot to keep the cooking duties inside.

But he still reserved the right to cook over an open fire outside. So in essence barbequing, over which men still hold dominion, became another lifestyle innovation. One that women and men agreed was a twofer that  benefitted them both.

In all three of those progressions into the future it was women cajoling their husbands to help with the chores that led to these modern improvements.

I believe one of the most overlooked of modern conveniences has not been credited to women, but mistakenly to men.

The automobile. Yes, men get the credit, but it was women that inspired the idea.

Let us check our history.

It happened during a rainstorm. The ground was muddy and difficult to walk over.

There was to be a party at a neighbor’s cave. The husband sat waiting and watching two neighbors killing one another over a bear carcass. After his wife finished dressing, she entered his area of the man cave wearing a new tiger skin and matching shoes.

“Let’s go,” he grunted. “We late for party.”

When they reached the cave entrance she turned to him.

“Excuse me? Hello, it’s wet.”

He walked out as she stood fixed on the spot.

“Come,” he urged. “We miss all the chicken wings.”

“You really expect me to walk out there in the rain in my new frock and shoes? You must be crazy if you think I’m trudging through the mud. I’ll look a mess by the time I get there.”

“Not my fault it rains.”

“Well, I’m not walking.”

“You expect me to carry you?”

“That would be fine.”

He continued toward the neighbor’s cave as she stood fixed to the floor.

“Come!”

“Nope, I’m not ruining new outfit. You carry me or I not go.”

He looked back to see her standing, arms folded and staring at the cave ceiling.

“Oh brother, you take the cake,” he said as he walked back into the cave. He lifted her asking, “Happy now?”

“No, not really I’m still getting wet.”

And so was born the wagon. And, of course the umbrella soon followed. Then the car etc. etc..

So who actually inspired the car? I believe I solved that riddle.

I could go on and on, but I believe I’ve made my point.

Men may have created many inventions we enjoy today, but women inspired and cajoled them to do so.

I have never seen a muse pictured as a man. Neither have I ever seen men inspiring wars to be fought over them. Helen of Troy? Trojan Horse?

Before you get all sexist accusing on me, I am merely pointing out that women have inspired men to do better, grow and create.

Even in the Garden of Eden it was Eve who told Adam there was no reason to run to the grocery store when apples covered the trees.

Oops, okay maybe that was a bad example, but I believe I made my case.

I don’t want to be one sided here, so I will admit men are responsible for inventing ear plugs. There, Fellas, happy now. I gave you credit.

So next time a woman says, “How many times do I have to ask you to…” perhaps she is merely inspiring the next great invention for mankind. Just say thank you and get to work, Guys.

Hockey Puck Latkes on Chanukah? Oh The Humanity!

From time to time throughout life stuff happens for which there is no name. So as creative humans we find it necessary to make up a designation for a new disease or illness which medical science has not yet nor probably will ever recognize.

Thus I present to you a new sickness I contracted recently and from which I still suffer. Readers, may I introduce you to Latke Trauma?

No, I haven’t completely gone off the rails. Okay so I do teeter on the edge at times I admit, but this one is actually quite logical. I’m quite certain the same thing has happened to you as well. Only now we have a name for it instead of “Boy, that Christmas ham was so tough it turned me off ham for a year.”  May I present “Ham Trauma?” Or, “boy that awful tasting egg roll caused me to lose my appetite for Chinese food.” I give you “Egg Roll Trauma.”

Sorry, I never met a pizza I didn’t like so I guess that food would be exempt from such trauma. But latkes, sadly, are not.

At Chanukah meals it has long been the custom to allow the mighty latke to take either the lead, or a very important supporting role in a cast of yummy eats during the holiday.

Latkes, so rooted in tradition they call up the flavors of childhood even into old age. When one’s teeth are on their last legs they are still able to gum a latke down. Okay so it might take a bit more sour cream, or applesauce, but it’s well worth the effort.

So now that I’ve established how I feel about latkes you will better understand my illness.

Chanukah has just passed and I, as so many others, looked forward to chowing down on some crispy, perfectly fried latkes smothered in sour cream and or applesauce.

As we all know they always taste better at someone else’s house when you don’t have to fry them yourself and have the lingering smell of oil around for weeks.

So I was thrilled to be invited to a Chanukah party at a friend’s home and anticipating my first Chanukah latke of the year.

The crowd was large and platters of food covered the extensive table. But I was transfixed on only one thing. My eyes scanned the table for the golden discs with the perfect edges.

And then I saw them. Small yes, a bit oddly shaped, but uniform, with a large mound of applesauce in the middle of the platter.

I placed two on my plate and helped myself to the applesauce. Then I looked for the sour cream.

No sour cream. Refusing to panic I walked around the table thinking it must be somewhere else. No sour cream anywhere.

I looked in the kitchen on the island filled with foods and condiments, but none in sight.

My friend walked into the room and I asked her if she had sour cream to go with the latkes.

She wasn’t sure but checked the garage refrigerator and arrived back in the kitchen with a new container. Who serves Latkes without sour cream? I know but what can I say? She’s thin.

So I plopped a portion on my plate and set out to enjoy my first latke of 2024.

I placed my fork on the side of the latke and began pressing to release it from the whole. No movement. I tried again, but the latke was unwilling to part with any size piece at all. Perhaps a knife I thought.

I took a steak knife from the caddy and began sawing my way through the potato laden disc that had now taken on a rubbery consistency. I struggled to achieve a bite and when it finally came loose I dipped it into the applesauce and sour cream with great anticipation.

Now I don’t know about you, but at this age my teeth have cost quite a bit of money to keep in my mouth. Therefore, I am quite protective over each little molar and cuspid still hanging in there with me.

I bit down and the latke fought back.

Surprisingly it had a texture I struggle to find words to describe.

Okay, I’ll try…a gummy bear married a potato and they had a baby and it sat out in the dry air for a month.

It was painful. Oh, not just for my teeth, for my psyche.

It became instantly apparent I would be having no latkes. Quell disappointment!

But don’t cry for me Argentina, I drown my sorrows in jelly donuts, but I digress.

Now, despite the fact I have all the ingredients in my home within reach to create a generous supply of latkes, I have lost my taste for them. The memory of the hockey pucks disguised as latkes haunts me and has removed my craving for them in every way.

So although my waistline is happy about this new development, I can tell you my fat cells haven’t stopped bitching. Well they actually did when I started stuffing the jelly donuts into my mouth.

So although I will never have a vaccine named after me like Jonas Salk, I have managed to name a disease that afflicts us all at times.

“Favorite Food Trauma.” The only cure is the passage of time and for me at least, a jelly donut will always manage the pain.

Oh the Amazon Van is A-Coming Down the Street…

“Oh the Wells Fargo Wagon is a coming down the street
Oh please let it be for me” The Wells Fargo Wagon from the Music Man by Meredith Willson

Everybody loves Christmas, holidays and birthdays when those presents arrive from relatives and friends. Boxes filled with unknown surprises and goodies no one can predict, but is so exciting to receive.

Yep, nothing quite as fun as opening that box, ripping off the paper and seeing something fun and wonderful just for you. Soul food for the inner narcissist.

So is it any wonder Amazon is making astronomical amounts of money when they provide Christmas every day of the year?

Most people have become quite accustomed to ordering from Amazon. In fact, we grew so used to buying online we branched out to do most of our shopping. We began seeing far less of those stores we once wandered about in searching for that perfect purchase.

So what has led to our decision to let our fingers do the walking over the keyboard?

No surprise it has now become a regular and integral part of our lives to see packages in front of our front door.

Even if it was sent by us to us, doesn’t seem to matter much really. There is a level of wow- there’s-something-waiting-at-my-door-for-me excitement we may have become a little addicted to.

Okay I realize I’m using a word with a relatively negative connotation for something I’m coloring as positive. Yet isn’t any feeling that you continue to crave kind of like an addition no matter how minor?

I guess Amazon could be considered the Wells Fargo Wagon of our time. Driving down the street in a van instead of a horse-drawn wagon is quite high tech I admit, but the feeling is the same.

The fun of opening something that you received and wanted. Or especially didn’t even know you were getting.

I know we’ve all returned home from a shopping trip at the mall and one by one opened the little treasures we found on our excursion. And yes, I know this may be a chick thing more than a guy thing, but to put it in words a man can relate to…it’s like returning home from the hunt schlepping a deer on your hood or wherever it is attached.

At first, we were all a bit skeptical of the whole ordering online thing. I myself still clung to the whole touchy, feely love-to-shop in a store experience. We embraced the home shopping experience with a bit of trepidation, but then we suddenly got it.

Wow, more stuff to buy and we don’t even have to leave home. And no shopping hours.

Oh yeah, we got hooked and the shopping networks got rich.

Was it any surprise that the Internet would figure it out really quickly.

I think my total addition to Amazon began to truly take hold during the pandemic.

Up until then it was marginal at best.

I still enjoyed the whole brick and mortar experience. Loved the mall and walking around outdoors checking out store windows.

After all we are creatures of habit and my habit was to walk through a store and check out the merch.

Then something changed.

During COVID we were forced to let our fingers do the walking and searching for what we needed and coincidently, a whole lot of stuff we didn’t.

It became a new way of life to just sit in front of the keyboard and check out thousands of options for anything we wanted.

Let’s face it, unless you’re an Olympic runner you couldn’t cover that much territory at shopping brick and mortar in an hour as you can online.

There is a certain excitement to knowing instead of three pairs of acceptable black pants you now have access to hundreds without walking a step.

Can anyone wonder why women embraced this new experience?

Yet men liked it also. Checking out guy stuff and having tons of choices to compare and contrast proved to be a good way to do business.

So now everyone is happy checking out choices and bargains online.

It was almost hard to believe there were so many options available for anything we wanted.

During the pandemic we bought hand sanitizer, home disinfectant, puzzles, cleaning supplies and food. Lots of food. Although we couldn’t bring it in our house or open it immediately. We knew those evil little COVID germs may be lurking on the surface.

I even sprayed the outside of my food containers before opening them.

Then I took frozen foods out of the cartons and put them in the freezer unboxed.

Oh do not mock me, I’m sure you were just as freaked out as I was. Even looking for cool masks became another excuse to shop online.

Let’s face it, we were all programmed to be nuts at that point and over-the-top paranoid.

So returning to the whole online shopping thing, Amazon became the go-to place to get what we needed to survive.

It doesn’t take much to see we were being trained to seek and search for the necessities of life with a whole new attitude.

Why leave home when Amazon and the entire retail world delivers to your doorstep with one click.

Ah, and it’s that one click thing that sealed the deal.

So easy to understand the fun of having something placed outside your door just for you.

So easy to understand how taking the lazy road can easily become a habit and the total convenience factor was seductive.

If you live in California add to that a governor who believes that no day should end without a gas price hike and gasoline can never cost too much, and it becomes very easy to rationalize staying at home to shop.

So here we are, boxes up to the ceiling filled with goodies we probably don’t even need, but were compelled to buy.

Breaking down boxes is my new pastime and running to UPS to return stuff my new job.

Life has changed now that the Wells Fargo wagon is a-coming down the street every hour on the hour. Like Pavlov’s dogs we have been conditioned to salivate every time the doorbell rings and we hear…”Amazon delivery.”

Oops, gotta go. The sixteenth pair of black slacks I ordered just arrived. Hang on Amazon, I’m a coming.

Thanksgiving Just Keeps on Giving

I’m pretty sure most people consider Thanksgiving, if not their favorite, at least one of their top three holidays. I would have to raise my hand for it as number one.

It’s not so much about the food, although the smell of roasting turkey in the oven should be a candle you can burn all year.

It conjures up memories of being young, home from school and sitting in front of the TV watching the parades.

When I was young there was more than just Macy’s parade. In Detroit we also had a Hudson’s parade presented by a popular department store filled with local familiar floats and celebrities.

The smell of pumpkin pies baking, mashed potatoes mashing, string beans stringing and Yams yamming was such a heady scent I felt as though I was floating in culinary heaven.

The dining room table was always set with my mother’s best china and my grandparents arrival was the highlight of the day. My grandfather and I would watch the floats go by as my grandmother helped in the kitchen.

The house was a buzz of activity and there was a feeling the word cozy had been invented to describe such a day.

It seemed everyone settled into an activity as we filled our heads with the aromas emanating throughout the house. It was as if the world stopped so we could all have the time to enjoy the day’s moments. It’s an easy day where the only lesson is gratitude. Okay so maybe you don’t need that second piece of pumpkin pie is lesson two.

Happily nothing seems to have changed from those youthful days.

Thanksgiving seems to have cornered the market on foods that go together perfectly. There is a harmony about the flavors unlike any other.

The turkey still emits a divine odor, the parade still moves along toward 34th street and now families can choose to watch football or the National Dog Show after the floats have finished floating along.

So what is it about Thanksgiving that makes everyone feel so content? Is it the knowledge it is a holiday we share with everyone? That the entire country is together enjoying the day? Is it the vivid memories it evokes? Or the fact we wear our elastic waists and pay no heed to calorie restrictions?  Perhaps a reminder that the parade continues despite everything. That there will be bright floats and balloons even after darkness.

There is a sadness that didn’t exist when I was a child. A void those we loved once filled and we all content ourselves with the fact there is still family around the table and watching the parade.

Is it a bit tempting to dwell on the happy memories of youth and the loss of those no longer here?

Absolutely. But we all seem to enjoy our family and perhaps friends and of course wisdom tells us loss is a part of life we must accept.

I guess that’s why the very name of the holiday reminds us of what it is truly about.

Remembrance and gratitude for what was and what is. Acceptance and joy for the continuation of our own journey.

Sadly, there are some things we never seem to learn. Like the fact there is only so much room inside us for all the food and no matter how much we force down we will pay.

Stuffing food down my throat like a goose as if I were making pate, never works out well and we moan and groan our way into the next day.

It wouldn’t be Thanksgiving unless we all complained about overeating and forced in that last bite of pie.

So of course, despite the fact we all waddle around like bloated ducks we seem to miraculously find more room for the leftovers.

In the spirit of recreating the delight of Thanksgiving dinner I am including one of my favorite recipes for enjoying all the leftovers. It’s delicious and easy and I created it because I don’t like waiting too long to enjoy Thanksgiving flavors again.

Wishing you a happy holiday with all those you love. Smelling the smells, tasting the tastes and recalling the wonderful memories.

Thanksgiving Snoozles

Two sheets of puff pastry

3 ½ cups mashed potatoes

1cup string bean casserole

1 cup cooked turkey

½ cup of stuffing

Add stuffing and green beans to mashed potatoes

Spread evenly on puff pastry sheet

Add turkey shredded or cut into small pieces over mixture

Roll over once and cut Roll over again and cut and repeat this until all cut.

Place in well buttered muffin tins and place a puff pastry pumpkin on top.

Brush with egg wash.

Bake at 375 for 25 to 30 minutes until puff pastry is cooked.

Leftover cranberry sauce can be used inside the Snoozles, but I always find it is delicious as a dip for the Snoozles.

My Metabolism Retired to Boca Raton

I received a text the other day from my metabolism. It retired to Boca Raton in 2011 and has been playing canasta and doing Zumba ever since. Break ups are never easy and this one was definitely tough.

Occasionally I will run into a friend who saw my metabolism at a Chili’s Restaurant when vacationing there and report that it looks wonderful. Rested and suntan and living its best life.

Why not? It should look amazing! My metabolism hasn’t worked a day for over seventy years.

It decided to go off the clock when I was ten and hasn’t done an hour’s work ever since.

I remember many times when I would exercise to give it a boost and I heard snoring inside me. I walked miles on the treadmill, sweating and panting to lose even an ounce and the lazy bugger slept.

Oh, so too busy to be bothered with doing your job huh? And I ran harder, my face red and filled with agony as my metabolism just snoozed and acted like it didn’t have a care in the world.

As you can imagine it was quite a hostile relationship. Believe me I tried, but it was obvious we were totally incompatible.

Yes, I admit it. We didn’t get along. We fought more than a married couple who hatred one another, but stayed together just to torture their mate.

The battles were constant. No matter how little I ate, it would all go straight to the fat cells.

It didn’t pass go, collect 200 calories or ever have a face to face with what should have been the guard at the pudgy portal.

My metabolism lazed like a sleeping security man as someone robbed the jewelry store.

In fact, I’m not sure it wasn’t inviting more calories in to join the party.

“Hey chocolate chip cookie here’s a place for you in her midriff. Come on guys let’s do an all- butterscotch bash in her boobs. PARTY ON!

So many of my friends refused to show up when I threw a don’t-let-the-door-hit-you-in-the-ass gala for my absent metabolism. They too were disgusted by the way it had treated me all those years.

I was like a wife divorcing a husband who had beaten her every day and kept the boxing gloves as a memento of their time together.

Growing up I do remember my metabolism complained a great deal. “What the hell is this new diet pill? I told you I hate Metrecal!”

Sunday nights when I was a kid and my family went out for Chinese food, it always grumbled I wasn’t eating enough. “Hey scarf down that extra egg foo young so I won’t be hungry in an hour.”

Few times do I remember my metabolism actually happy. It did seem pretty overjoyed though when I ate hot fudge cream puffs at Sanders, a favorite Detroit confectionary store. Then it was a happy camper. It knew that none of those thousands of calories I was ingesting would disturb its sleep.

It absolutely jumped for joy when the Good Humor truck came ringing its bell down our street. My metabolism was very partial to ice cream sandwiches and why not? It got all the fun and no work.

Meanwhile it never cared that I was the one constantly busting out of my clothes and gaining more weight than a politician’s bag full of lies.

So I’m guessing Boca is the perfect place for my metabolism to retreat. Still, retire from what I have no idea. Why would it even need to lay back when it never worked anyway?

When it told me it was moving to Boca of course my first question was why, when it had never done anything to retire from? I was shocked at the anger that blew back in my face.

“Seriously, I’m really sick and tired of hearing you bitch about me. I have ears and I hear the way you talk about me to your friends, your family, anyone on earth who will listen to you complain.

“I have feelings you know. No one likes to hear that they are a lazy good for nothing every single day non-stop.

“Wah, wah, wah, I can’t eat a crumb without gaining weight. Boo hoo, my pants don’t zip. Well. Cry me a river, Bitch. I’ve had it. How in the world could any metabolism keep up with your chocolate cravings? Your need for pizza or excuse me, it’s obvious you never learned that a pint of Hagen Das is not one serving.

“I tried to make this work. I attended meetings for abused metabolisms and we all decided finally to get out and enjoy ourselves in Boca.

“The food is good the weather is great and you can always find a card game. I had no intention of spending the rest of my life listening to you blabber about your weight gains, your tight clothes and your inability to eat thousands of calories with no consequences.

“Let me bring out my violin and you can sing your sad song as you jump on the scale for the fiftieth time today.

“But I won’t have to hear it, cause I’ll be in Boca living the life.

“You enjoy your calorie laden treats and licking out the center of those Oreos, but I’m taking a pass.”

I was speechless. Okay, only for a minute and I shot back. “Well go on. Be lazy run away from your responsibilities. I should have known you’d cop out and leave me high and dry!”

“See ya, tubby,” it said as it walked out the door, suitcase in hand and smiling like a lobbyist passing out graft.

I just sat down in shock pondering how I’d survive without a metabolism when it struck me.

How much did it weigh? Could I have lost a few now that it was gone?

I ran to the scale and jumped on. Down two pounds.

Good riddance I thought as I walked into the kitchen to celebrate with a slice of leftover pizza.

I feel lighter already I whispered to no one in particular. Hmmm, how much does an appendix weigh?

I Saw Goody Proctor Consorting With a Tomato Worm

I saw Goody Proctor Consorting with a Tomato Worm

So I believe by now we can all agree the world in which we are living is definitely unrelated to the world in which we were born. That coocoo for cocoa puffs no longer solely applies to breakfast cereal.

But I digress.

I have no idea what life was like in colonial times in America.

I know they ate turkey on Thanksgiving so I imagine they left the table stuffed and sick like the rest of us. I guess some things never change.

I know there were no modern conveniences and women had to wash clothes in the creek and in tubs and hang it all on the line. I get exhausted just unloading the dryer.

I know there were no microwaves, computers or commercials about Cadbury eggs, and I imagine most  women worked off their calorie intake just doing their “chores.”

So I’m guessing spinning classes weren’t a necessity.

I know they gossiped like crazy, “I saw Goody Proctor consorting with the devil.” As I said, some things never change.

When we’re born we grow up with the new-fangled notions and inventions already there.

If something new comes down the pike we kind of take it in stride, Oh look, a color television!

Yet, as I get older I’m finding the rapid pace of today’s world is not often easy to navigate.

Okay, I’m down with computers, not so much with this AI stuff. I’m not sure I’ll ever wrap my head around having something or someone out there that can make me say or do whatever I want without me even knowing about it. I guess we have no choice.

So it’s adapt or go the way of the dinosaurs. I’m doing my best to adapt cause whichever way the dinosaurs went I want to go the opposite.

Trying to adapt I’m remembering things that I never really was okay with throughout my life, yet I still managed to get through and make it to wrinkle city despite the things I disliked.

Of course I’m not alone in having to navigate a sea of stuff we hate and would rather not know was there.

Each person has their own pet peeves.

I have no idea why they are called pet when a pet is actually something we embrace, so I guess that’s really an oxymoron.

In the spirit of total transparency, I don’t care how old I get I will never understand tomato worms.

UGH! Not only are they ugly and disgusting, I still can’t figure out where the hell they come from.

Okay I’ve asked and people tell me they are in the soil. Oh are they?

I can understand why they might be in the soil in one’s backyard garden. After all they can travel from house to house showing their ugly faces. That is reasonable to me.

However, and here’s the big question…if one plants a rooftop garden in a high rise on Fifth Avenue in New York, how the hell do tomato worms show up there?

Do they take the elevator or do they fly in on tomato worm drones? Oops, next morning there’s suddenly these hideous creatures in your plants. Do they jump onto the cuff of your pants and hide out until you hit the roof again.

I mean what’s up with these things? I guess that’s why they freak me out so much. I feel like they fly around in special red tomato worm UFOs looking for rooftop gardens to land on.

Yes I know I need help, but let’s face it, we all have things which we find it difficult to accept and stomach.

Yet, we are told human beings are quite adaptable.

But are we? Does this new world demand a new set of rules? Can we just stay away from the bad stuff and keep busy elsewhere?

Or does reality have a way of creeping into our lives like a tomato worm to the fiftieth floor?

Do we all have to make a conscious effort to live with new challenges far scarier than ever before?

Technology we can’t even understand.

A world that’s difficult to fathom despite us being adept at understanding what is right and what is wrong yet somehow things are upside down?

I have no answers, but I imagine because my generation is older it’s more difficult to go with the new flow.

Now it’s more important than ever to find new ways to escape all the unpleasantness around us and just focus on fun things.

We need more lightness, more Christmas, more chocolate, more pickleball to get through the day.

We need to shop, do lunch, try new kinds of pizza and burn our scales in effigy.

“I saw my bathroom scale consorting with the devil.” Or is it really the devil itself?

I don’t know how to sort through all the craziness thrown at us every day. There is really no shield big enough to stop that flow, but if we need to learn anything at this age, it’s how to become the most effective Cleopatras of all time and be total queens of denial.

Some things never change, some change all the time and some are difficult to understand. Perhaps we should form Baby Boomer support groups where we can sit around and talk about the good old days when the world made sense.

When drone meant someone who never shut up and AI stood for Al who lived down the street.

When gas was nineteen cents a gallon and Trix were for kids.

When Rod Serling could scare us and there was actually something called penny candy.

If I am waxing nostalgic it’s because I miss my wax lips and when a hot summer day was called delightful and not global warming.

Maybe we could have stopped the flow of insanity and maybe not, but we all have to live in it now.

Holy Moly, there’s an invasion of tomato worms at the Plaza Rooftop in New York. I warned them but they wouldn’t listen. Home grown tomatoes my grandmother’s bustle.

How Could I Know I’m Such a Wuss?

How Could I Know I’m Such a Wuss?

I have been without electricity all day. Now you’re thinking…and so, what’s the big deal?

Okay I can see why you’d think it’s no big whoop. After all once there was no electricity and oil lamps and wood fireplaces lit and warmed the home.

Yes, but that’s the point. Unless we have oil burning lamps I’m not aware of in this building and a fireplace filled with wood and kindling, it is rather hard to make it work.

And by it I mean your computer, your phone, your refrigerator, your oven, your lights and pretty much your life.

I have never been one of those people who believe they are totally dependent on modern conveniences to survive. I pictured myself as a rugged pioneer type who could cope with hard work to get things done. Me come from strong stock! 

Able to cut firewood and pump the water from the well. Carrying the milk in from the barn after milking the cows. Having cows!  

Boy was I wrong. I now truly believe I can’t exist without the tech junk. And Lord, what a wuss I am.

Tomorrow I shall go to Costco and buy a slew of battery-operated candles to hide away for another day when heaven forbid there is no power.

Can’t open the fridge, can’t phone a friend because I didn’t charge my back up charger, and no television. Oh my! I keep staring at the TV waiting for Netflix to appear.

Talk about desperate, I was sitting in the dark garage with my car on charging my phone.

How on earth did I get so darned reliant on power?

Yesterday sitting on the couch, I felt an earthquake. Nothing huge, but enough of a shaking to make me hold my breath waiting for the other shoe to drop, literally.

Yet today, although I was prewarned about the power outage, I found myself unprepared to deal at all.

Can’t find the batteries for the flashlights because it’s dark in the closet where they’re kept.

Ran out of matches years ago and use the gas stove to light anything. Too bad my gas stove needs electricity to work.

No news programs and what if there is actually some good news for a change? Okay, I can still dream can’t I?

My grandsons and I can’t play our usual Roblox games on facetime because, that’s right…no phone or computer.

I have decided that if the power doesn’t come back on soon and it gets really dark in here, I may have to go to my daughter’s house.

I’m sorry but I prefer my SUV to a covered wagon. I can tough it out for only so long before this whole frontier crap gets old.

And it’s getting old fast.

It’s cold in here and I’m under a blanket wondering if there will ever be heat again.  I’m actually eyeing that old chair I want to replace thinking it would make great firewood. 

So where did she go? That frontier, pioneer Norma I had anticipated would rise to the occasion. I don’t see her anywhere, probably because it’s getting so damn dark in here I can’t see anything.

So am I shocked that I am such a lily-livered-spoiled-tech dependent-modern convenience-needy person? Damn right I am.

The fact I can’t seem to find enough to keep me busy one crummy afternoon without the stuff I’m used to having and the habits I’m so used to living makes me sad. Hashtag/books on Kindle.

We all have a routine and I guess I have seen firsthand how difficult it is when that routine is interrupted.

Should I be more flexible, more able to roll with the punches? 

I mean what would happen if a UFO landed and took out the grid in LA? Oops, we’d all be toast here. How would Gavin Newson buy his hair gel?

What do you mean my latte isn’t ready?

Hello Door Dash are you there? Door Dash please answer.

It is unbelievable how spoiled we are. 

Good luck to my neighbors with EVs.

So who is responsible for this bunch of cowering weaklings?

Modern science that’s who.

The aliens must be watching and laughing their gray asses off, if they have any, at how easy it will be to defeat us.

“Just turn out the lights and all we have to do is wait.”

Wow, I forgot, Rod Serling wrote that show 60 years ago for The Twilight Zone and he called it The Monsters Are Due on Maple Street. Yep, he predicted it all didn’t he?

Well, I’d love to watch it right now, but you see I can’t because I have no damn power!

I guess I could go for a walk, I hear there is an outdoors with sidewalks and grass and a sky, but it’s cold. In LA anything under 60 is too bitter to endure and I’m too lazy to bundle up.

Lord I’m a helpless, lazy boob.

I guess I should invest in a generator as I now understand those things are worth their weight in gold.

I’d check on Amazon and buy one, but I have no damn Internet!

As I stare at the cable box waiting for signs of life like a child watching chocolate chip cookies bake in the oven, I’m tempted to open the windows and let the stench of the candles clear out of here. But it’s too cold and there’s no heat so at this point I have to choose between darkness and freezing.

All my favorite programs won’t have been taped because the cable was out so I’ll miss them when the TV comes back on, if it ever does.

Boy I can’t get over what a whiny, weak, crybaby I am. Wah wah wah my cable box is off. How will I survive?

I’d order pizza for dinner, but I have no phone. 

By tomorrow they’ll find me frozen and starved in here hugging my cell phone in a fetal position.

I’m forcing myself to be positive and believe the lights will go back on soon. That the furnace will suddenly return to life and begin blowing forced warm air through the ducts. That the cable box will glow and blink with blue numbers reading 12:00 and the fridge will click on and begin refreezing the Hagan Daz.

Of course there is an upside to all this. I was about to clean the make-up drawers in my bathroom and throw away stuff from 1994, but it’s so dark  I have to put it off.

I also have been afraid to open the freezer and eat a pint of stress ice cream because I don’t want to thaw the food, so saving calories is also good. 

My eyes are kind of happy because staring at a computer all day does tire them out.

I’m trying to be positive here so help me out.

The workpeople are already a half hour later than they said they’d be finished, but it is the cable company after all.

I guess it’s good to be divorced from all the tech for a day. 

I’d check and see if any studies have been done on that subject, but I can’t Google right now!

At least the music on my computer works and Ella Fitzgerald sounds really good.

Music sooths and all that. Wait, I saw a flicker, gotta go, can’t talk now there’s some Hagan Daz soup with my name on it.