For Peg

   What with food prices on their alpine climb, I’m determined to eat down whatever we already have before the next trip. I’m one of the probably select few who doesn’t mind a trip to the grocery store, it combining two of my favorite things – shopping and food.

          My food-buying habits were formed by those working years when I only had time – or a car – for one trip a week. To eliminate any thought before I had to slap food on the table, I’d make a list of all the dinners and food needed for the entire week. If we ran out, oh well.  

          So, pickings were getting lean here: three pork chops, a very tired tomato, a week-old yellow pepper, and two onions. What to do.

          Then I remembered a recipe from the past. Not the most exciting, but one that would combine all four ingredients on hand. Not to mention easy. Except it came from a cookbook still sitting in Massachusetts.

          On to a Google search: “Peg Bracken pork chops.” Sure enough, there it was.

Looking a little battle-weary. We'd already eaten the rest.

Old Faithful –  

          Brown pork chops.

          Scatter rice in bottom of casserole

          Add pork chops, top with sliced tomato, onions, pepper

          Salt, pepper, thyme, chicken broth.

          350 oven for 1 hour

          Done

         

  

        I kept thinking about Peg Bracken, author of the most witty and readable cookbooks I’ve ever seen, even if you hate to cook. Which, actually is the name of one of them: The I Hate to Cookbook.

          It was published on January 1, 1960, long before the internet was even a glimmer in anyone’s eye, certainly not Peg’s. I hope she would have pleased that her work is still helping reluctant cooks everywhere.

           

Clear-conscience shopping

          For the rest of the year, I live in a small town in Massachusetts that while lovely, isn’t close to much of anything. We have a couple of nearby good restaurants, but eating out usually means a drive of 45 minutes or an hour.

First came the goats . . .

 

I’d played pickleball for two hours in the morning, but then spent the afternoon just sitting, so it was time for a walk around the complex.

Mystery solved

 

Yesterday meandered by – up later than my usual leap-out-of-bed-at-7:00 to rush off and play pickleball. This meant comfy time on the couch with my cup of tea and latest mystery. Then a walk of two times around the complex, more reading, then to the pool to lounge and chat with people. Hedonist heaven.

          Like other days, when I didn’t actually have a book in my hand, I had one in my head. I truly love my airpods. I can listen while I’m changing beds, walking, making dinner, or for more of a challenge, while I’m also completing a crossword puzzle. I use them so much, and they and their case are so small, that I’m careful, careful about where I leave them.

          So, I came home from the pool, fiddled around with a few things, and then fixed dinner (Roasted shrimp & asparagus, caprese salad, box noodle mix), all while still listening to my book.

          When dinner was ready, I unplugged my head and then couldn’t find the case to put the airpods away. After dinner the search began in earnest: countertops, bedroom dresser top, beach bag, purse, bathroom counter. Twice. Then under chairs, bed, dresser; inside underwear drawer, kitchen junk drawer, office junk drawer, box where I throw my sunglasses after walking. Repeat. Nothing.

Homeless

          I finally ended up ordering a replacement case, knowing in my heart that that would ensure that the original case would magically appear. Except it didn’t last night.

          Today I poked around in the freezer, wondering what to make for dinner. Wasn’t there a chicken recipe I wanted to try? How many cans of tomatoes did it call for?

          Off to the office to pull out my big loose-leaf binder of clipped recipes.

          When I opened it – you guessed it – out fell the missing case.

The Loaner

 

My Guy needed my car for a lone day trip, since we thought it would be nice if he actually got to where he was going. His car, which we leave here in Florida, used to be my car.

Four out of four

 

If only I could say that the reason for this latest surge of images on the blog is that I’ve used up all my words through my writing.

While I did make some inroads on book 5 yesterday (finally!), accomplishing a couple of scenes and giving some thought to tying various characters into the happenings,

for the past several weeks I’ve been incredibly lazy. Fortunately, I’ve found one way to outwit myself: Get so far into the book that I can’t possibly walk away, leaving it unfinished and abandoning all that work I’d put into it.

          But never mind all that – in lieu of some deep thoughts on my part, here’s what My Guy entered into the latest modeling society competition. (A reader had expressed interest and requested more of these the last time I posted one of his entries, so here ya go.) 

       

 Usually not much taller than 4 or 5 inches, these are what is known in that world as “flats.” 

He buys the sculpted figure and then paints it, sometimes creating a backdrop for it. I think it was the backdrops that brought him into his other love - painting on canvas. 

This one of Robin Hood earned him a silver.

He won a bronze with the milkmaid:

This one earned him a silver:

And this brought home the gold:

Fabric Joy

(Warning - many pictures ahead.)

I went to an art show on Saturday. 

This show may have awakened that old urge to pore over bolts of fabric and thumb through quilting patterns. 

Aging Report

          I had a Zoom call with my three friends from high school – Washington-Lee in Arlington, VA to be exact. Truly a forgotten era, seeing as how not only is the building gone, a shiny new one replacing it probably decades ago, but the name exists no longer, either. It’s now Washington Liberty, which I suppose means the football team is no longer the Washington Generals. And in domino-style, I imagine the team colors are no longer blue and gray. . . and therefore, I imagine the yearbook I used to work on is no longer called the Blue and Gray either.

          Whew – I hadn’t followed all that to its logical end before.

          I envy those of you who are near your roots and see friends from long ago on a regular basis. As I’ve written before, the three of us are scattered over Massachusetts, West Virginia, Maryland, and Hawaii. Unsurprisingly, we haven’t gotten together in years. I haven’t seen our Hawaii member in decades.

          Last year we made noises about getting together, possibly near or at the West Coast to simplify travel for our island dweller. However, our Maryland friend fell while on a trip and broke her femur, resulting in months of recovery.

          We’re going to try again this fall, this time aiming for the Southwest – Santa Fe? Sedona? Somewhere artsy with good views, anyway.

We’ll see.

          The thing is, Hawaii friend seems none too healthy – diabetes, arthritis – and her husband just turned 102. Yes. Really. 102. So, I imagine she’ll have to line up care for him.

          It seems as though West Virginia friend can now barely walk, but she cheerily extolled the possibilities of airport wheelchairs. Okaaaay . . . . .

          Maryland friend is all healed up, and is probably just fine for the trip. Hard to tell, though. She has definite hypochondriacal tendencies.

          As the only one of the group with my own knees, whose only medication is a low-dose statin, I feel a bit like Wonder Woman, arthritis aside.

Sunday Stroll

 This morning's walk through the complex was full of the usual fauna:

A crabby crow