Trivia Sunday

 

Maybe that's a tad too many haricot vert

Talked with a friend, slightly older than I am, on the phone, and she confessed that she’s falling a lot. About once a week. I told her she needs a walker, and she said, “Oh, I have one. It’s in the garage.” I told her it would do her no good there. I get so frustrated with people who won’t use walking aids when they need them—whether it’s from vanity (who wants to look old?) or convenience. She claimed the walker was hard to handle, so I sent her an Amazon link to the one I call my chariot. Honest, I wouldn’t, couldn’t be without it. In the four years I’ve used it, I have not fallen once. As long as I have my purple chariot, I walk with purpose and confidence. And I try not to bend over it—my surgeon said if people do that, they slap them upside the head!

Food experiments go on. In an effort to enlarge our vegetable choices and get away from asparagus as the only fresh green we eat, I marinated and roasted Brussel sprouts. Christian liked them, though he said they weren’t as crispy as the ones at Pacific Table. I flat did not like them. Honest, I tried. I remember eating them as a child, and I don’t think I liked them then. Now that they’re so trendy and popular, I went at it with an open mind, but no banana.

So I said I’d try fresh green beans—you can do a lot with them and keep them crisp and good. Christian’s immediate comment was that he doesn’t like them as well as canned, because that’s what he grew up on (he opened himself to all kinds of comments there, but I restrained myself). Then he said, “They’d have to have the point-y ends removed.” Really? Who served him untrimmed green beans, unless they were haricot vert—maybe those tiny French green beans are what I should try. Once a friend of mine who prides herself on being a plain and simple country girl, was served those at a fancy country-club luncheon. She didn’t like them; I explained they were a delicacy and told her the name. Her retort was, “I don’t care what you call them. They’re beans, and they’re raw!” Vegetable suggestions would be welcomed but I have a long list of forbidden things—peas, sweet potatoes, any squash, etc. Jacob loves broccoli; Christian hates it as badly as Nixon did—or was that the elder Bush.

Reading trivia: I just finished a cozy mystery that will go unnamed. I chose it because it is set in a town that I am sort of familiar with. Not, however, familiar enough to recognize anything much. But it is a debut novel, which showed—the author explained all her red herrings. To my mind, you write red herrings in to make the reader think of possible perpetrators, but you shouldn’t explain them—takes away the fun. Also, the author spent way too much time in the main character’s mind, reviewing possibilities and why this one or that could be the murderer. Again, something the reader should puzzle out. It amounts to telling to much—and padding to up the word count.

So now I’ve started the newest book in the Wine Country Mysteries, The French Paradox, by Ellen Crosby. I’ve enjoyed others in the series and looked forward to this one. The opening line is, “I found out about my grandfather’s affair with Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis when I read my grandmother’s diaries.” An auspicious beginning.

An almost perfect spring evening tonight—lovely temperature, just a tad too much wind. Kids had gone to Joe T.’s to eat with Christian’s family so Jean came over, and we ate al fresco on the patio—Italian style tuna sandwiches. Tuna, hard-boiled egg, and salsa verde (garlicky with anchovies, so good) on artisan bread. Recipe called for a baguette, but this was much better. Only one problem—Jean wanted a small sandwich, a piece of bread maybe two inches at best, so I followed suit. It was not big enough to hold sandwich ingredients. Tomorrow, for lunch, I will go with more a more generous hunk of bread.

Another week ahead. Hope it’s a good one for everyone.

How Blessed I am October 21, 2016 Every once in a while I stop whatever I’m doing to just stare around my cottage and think about how blessed I am. Even when the renovation was underway I never thought I’d live in such a cool space. It is, I told a neighbor tonight, like living in a Manhattan loft but without the major traffic-vehicles and people—hazards. It somehow makes me feel sophisticated to think I live in 600 square feet—and such a cool 600 feet. Cozy, comfortable but without kitsch or cute. I am thoroughly besotted of my own life situation. And that includes the many friends who come to visit, my children who are often around and if not in constant touch. And tonight another pleasant experience emphasized how lucky I am. The neighbors director behind us, Jason and Amy Brown, had invited us for dinner, but Jordan felt during the move she had to reschedule—twice. Then Jordan began to worry about taking me to their house which doesn/t have easy access, let alone access to restroom facilities. It was finally decided that Amy would bring the dinner here—and she did with grace and style. The Browns have two boys—Sam, Jacob’s age, and Alex, now in 2nd grade I believe, so the three boys had a grand time playing tetherball and flip in the driveway. We decided though that Alex was a little bored with flip—it’s a fifth grade thing. Funniest moment of the evening: Jacob mixed up child abuse and child obesity. He and Sam both knew the words but not the meaning, so I had to explain. That of course led Jacob to enumerate the times he’d been a victim of child abuse at my hands—well, there was the time I used the cussword, “Damn,” in talking to him. Even he admitted that was not a serious fall from grace. Meanwhile the adults sat around the patio table, under the trees, on an absolutely perfect night. Amy’s meal was just right for the situation—thin slices of Manchego and pear with crackers, a bowl of olives, and a bowl of marinated almonds. She explained it was a Spanish meal. Her entrée was wonderful, rich lentil soup served with hunks of baguette—perfect dinner for a fall evening, when the air turns a bit cool as soon as the sun goes down. We talked neighborhood news—Jason is president of the property owners’ association. And we talked about children and education and our wonderful local Lily B. school. And Zika virus. Did you know that daytime mosquitoes have Zika, while night-time ones have West Nile? Our topics ranged far and wide. It’s always stimulating to talk with people you don’t see often—sometimes I feel when I see old friends we’ve already said everything to each other that needs to be said. We steered clear of politics though everyone had a good laugh—at ?

October 21, 2016

Every once in a while I stop whatever I’m doing to just stare around my cottage and think about how blessed I am. Even when the renovation was underway I never thought I’d live in such a cool space. It is, I told a neighbor tonight, like living in a Manhattan loft but without the major traffic-vehicles and people—hazards. It somehow makes me feel sophisticated to think I live in 600 square feet—and such a cool 600 feet. Cozy, comfortable but without kitsch or cute. I am thoroughly besotted of my own life situation.

And that includes the many friends who come to visit, my children who are often around and if not in constant touch. And tonight another pleasant experience emphasized how lucky I am. The neighbors director behind us, Jason and Amy Brown, had invited us for dinner, but Jordan felt during the move she had to reschedule—twice. Then Jordan began to worry about taking me to their house which doesn/t have easy access, let alone access to restroom facilities. It was finally decided that Amy would bring the dinner here—and she did with grace and style.

The Browns have two boys—Sam, Jacob’s age, and Alex, now in 2^nd grade I believe, so the three boys had a grand time playing tetherball and flip in the driveway. We decided though that Alex was a little bored with flip—it’s a fifth grade thing. Funniest moment of the evening: Jacob mixed up child abuse and child obesity. He and Sam both knew the words but not the meaning, so I had to explain. That of course led Jacob to enumerate the times he’d been a victim of child abuse at my hands—well, there was the time I used the cussword, “Damn,” in talking to him. Even he admitted that was not a serious fall from grace.

Meanwhile the adults sat around the patio table, under the trees, on an absolutely perfect night. Amy’s meal was just right for the situation—thin slices of Manchego and pear with crackers, a bowl of olives, and a bowl of marinated almonds. She explained it was a Spanish meal. Her entrée was wonderful, rich lentil soup served with hunks of baguette—perfect dinner for a fall evening, when the air turns a bit cool as soon as the sun goes down.

We talked neighborhood news—Jason is president of the property owners’ association. And we talked about children and education and our wonderful local Lily B. school. And Zika virus. Did you know that daytime mosquitoes have Zika, while night-time ones have West Nile? Our topics ranged far and wide. It’s always stimulating to talk with people you don’t see often—sometimes I feel when I see old friends we’ve already said everything to each other that needs to be said. We steered clear of politics though everyone had a good laugh—at my expense—over the picture of me in front of Chicago’s Trump Tower.

Good neighbors, good food, a delightfully pleasant setting—who could ask for more?