Jordan, Christian,
and even Jacob did yard work this past weekend, getting us ready for spring. Jacob
would rather have been fishing, thank you very much, but this morning he was
elated that he caught (and released) six bass last night. Back to the garden=-they
even swept the cobwebs off my house, something I was afraid to try for fear of
losing my balance—I had a graphic vision of one hand wielding the broom and the
other desperately clutching the walker—and the whole thing dumping over, me
included. So thanks to Christian for that chore. And to Jordan for planting all
those wonderful things we bought. And to Jacob for emptying my overflowing
garbage.
The back yard (my
domain) is beginning to look good. Much of the day I sit at my desk, with a big
window to my right and French doors dead ahead, so spring beauty is important
to me. Christian has put his big bougainvillea out on the deck railing, where I
have a clear view of it, and I’m just waiting for it to bloom. I can’t see the
hydrangeas in the bed directly under my office window, but I when they bloom I
will see them as I come in the driveway. The patio is alive with purple phlox
(we’ll replace with plumbago when the phlox dies out), daisies, and bright red
geraniums. Patio weather coming up!
I am thoroughly
enjoying the NYT Cooking Community page on Facebook. On a lengthy thread the
other day, someone posted that they fried polenta in butter and served it with
maple syrup for breakfast. I immediately replied that we had that when I was a
kid, but my mom called it fried mush. Nothing would do but that I get some
polenta, and this morning I had fried mush with maple syrup. So good.
Yesterday was fried
chicken day—lunch at Button’s with a friend (they have the best fried chicken
in town—hold out for the old-fashioned bone-in, none of this chicken-fried
chicken stuff). Ate one piece, with mashed potatoes and green beans, and brought
the other piece home. With a salad and fresh raspberries (an indulgence on my
part), it made a great meal. Unlike a lot of leftovers, it didn’t lose its
flavor.
Then this morning
I got hooked on one of those internet sites that gives you the iconic meal for
each state. You know what Texas’ is—no, not barbecue, but chicken-fried steak.
There were a couple of Polish and Russian dishes that I was surprised to see,
but the New Jersey dish is a ham roll sandwich for breakfast—thinly sliced Taylor’s
pork roll (It’s pork, not ham) with cheddar cheese and a fried egg. Yum.
I’ve been thinking
about happiness and what dour, unhappy people most Republican politicians seem
to be. I read that the trump administration is considering tracking the
disabled on social media to see if they’re “too happy” and therefore not
qualified for disability benefits. How miserable you must be yourself to decide
others are too happy. It seems they want to do everything they can to make us
unhappy—cutting benefits from food, health, and education, cutting veteran
benefits, polluting our world. I pity them for their antagonistic view of life.
As for me, I
choose to be happy. How about you?
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