"Rock and Refrigerolla"

I'm saved!

Within the dark recesses of a forgotten cupboard
I found three boxes of Annie Chun's instant soup!
Wow! Three mealtime conundrums resolved.

You see, to make my solitary existence interesting
and in an attempt to begin living a more sustainable
lifestyle, I've created what I call the "Rock and Refrigerolla"
Challenge.


Here's how it all started. You know how you go up to the refrigerator, open the door and look
in there, and there's all this stuff jammed inside, jars of mustard and mayonnaise and peanut
butter and nuts and raisins and celery and carrots and moldy cheese and you start wondering
if maybe some sneaky squirrel hasn't been secretly hoarding its winter food supply in there,
and finally with a sigh of resignation you close the door and say, "Geez! There's nothin' to eat!"

Well, that's what I was doing soon after The Man departed. I was too lazy to take those
random ingredients and prepare something... and this made me feel guilty. I mean, how
can I stare at my stocked refrigerator and say I have nothing to eat. Others should be
so lucky. I read a recent statistic indicating that about one half of the people on this planet
live on less than $2 a day. Then I got to thinking about sustainability and I made up my
Challenge.

I decided that I would not do any grocery shopping before leaving to rejoin The Man.
I will eat up what I have in the house. There are plenty of canned goods, the freezer is
full of unknown mysteries (including a lot of nuts, oddly - I'm thinking squirrel again),
and there's certainly no shortages in the refrigerator, so I should be able to creatively
prepare meals using existing ingredients.

I have purchased fat free milk and a jug of apple cider, but other than those two perishable
items and ordering Chinese take out one night that lasted for three meals, I've stuck to the
rules of The Challenge.

It was necessary to make some adjustments. For example, I ran out of olive oil about two
weeks ago. So, I'm using some fake spray butter I found in with the squirrel food. I'm also
out of fresh greens, like salad. But, I don't mind. I found a frozen bag of edamame beans
and got a big vitamin B and protein rush. Whoa!

Oh, and that jar of applesauce I discovered the other night was a godsend. I hadn't had
any fresh fruit for days and was afraid I was going to develop scurvy or something.
Although, now that I think about it, maybe I need citrus to avoid scurvy...or breadfruit,
whatever it was Captain Bligh and those mutineers aboard the Bounty were after initially.

My Thanksgiving feast consisted of stuffing with celery and carrots, onion and old
mushrooms made using an old bag of bread cubes I had in the cupboard; whole berry
cranberry sauce right out of the can; some potatoes; and some more of those edamame
beans. I enjoyed it immensely and it was all so simple with hardly any clean up.

I'm happy as a clam, full as a tick and emptying my cupboards all at the same time.
Who would've thought doing without could be so much fun. That less truly is more.
I guess it all depends on how you look at something.

The Man and I celebrated Thanksgiving
early this year. Several weeks ago, we
were driving out in the country through
the small farming town of Florence and
saw a sign that read “Turkey Supper –
4:30 to 7:00.” We made a note of it and
actually remembered to go on the
correct day, November 8^th.

We left home about 4:00. I was
yammering about how early it was
and nobody eats this early and why
do we always have to be the first
ones there, etc. But, The Man said
farming people eat early, so we
better get there. We only got slightly
lost on the way, and we pulled into the church parking lot at 4:40.

It was packed. Luckily, we’d driven the Geo and easily maneuvered into a tight parking place.

Inside we were immediately met by an elderly man and woman selling the tickets.
They told us they’d been partnered, selling the tickets for this dinner, for the past
40 years! Can you imagine that?! 40 years! Every year since 1968 they’ve been
selling these tickets.

Then, we had to put our names on a clipboard held by another man who was doing
something, but I didn’t know what. I noticed all these people sitting inside the
sanctuary and assumed they must be attending a Thanksgiving service or something.
We went on into another room asking directions to the dining room. We were told
we’d be called when there was a place available and that ALL those other people in
the sanctuary were ahead of us!

So, we settled in for the wait. Neither of us had the slightest inclination to go.
We figured if all these people were here it must be for a darn good reason and
we wanted to know what it was.

We sat and talked to some other people. Everyone was very, very friendly. We were
like guests at an amusement park where everyone is happy to be there because they
know they’re going to have a good time and they won’t have to do any clean up or
wash the dishes.

It was an older crowd, the average age being around 65, I’d say. There were a lot
of permed heads and polyester knit pants suits walking around, escorted by large,
experienced bellies. A lot of these folks knew each other and were there in groups
of eight and more. One old guy walked over to talk to the ticket-seller couple and
he pulled a piece of string out of his pocket and did the most fantastic magic trick
with it. He had to do the trick about three more times to other people sitting around
because everyone was so amazed by the trick. We all sat there mesmerized, trying
to figure out how he could knot the string around someone’s finger then place his
own finger tip against that person’s finger tip and then, miraculously pull the
string free. We were all dumbfounded because it appeared impossible to do without
breaking the connection between the joined fingers. It’s hard to explain. You had to
be there. But, it was great! As the old guy walked away The Man called out, “hey
how’d you do that?” but the old man was hard of hearing and simply disappeared
in the crowd. We all just sat there shaking our heads in unison knowing we'd
shared something unique .

Anyway, after about 40 minutes of waiting our name was called.

Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy. We’d been sitting there smelling the food for a long time
and we were ready!

We walked into this room full of people, smells, plates heaped with food being carried
from the kitchen to the tables, everyone laughing and talking and making merry.
We were directed first to the dessert table to make our choice. The table was laden
with big slices of about thirty different types of homemade pies and cakes to choose
from. As I started to walk away with my apple pie the woman there said, “you
want some whipping cream on that?” I looked at the huge bowl of homemade whipped
cream she was holding and I said “Absolutely!”

Then someone directed us to our seats, the last two at one of the tables set for twelve.
So, we said hello to our tablemates and they in turn started passing us plates of turkey,
stuffing, mashed potatoes with homemade gravy, a delicious cranberry sauce, rolls
and squash. Everything was served family-style and the plates were replenished as
necessary by the serving staff. It was really fun.

Everyone was eating away. I looked over at the man between bites and saw him
accepting more dressing and another roll and more turkey and I felt a little guilty
because I never prepare food like this anymore. He’s been so deprived!

Just the day before this event I had been reading my Dr. Dean Ornish heart book.
I like to refresh my memory every once in awhile and I’d read the chapter on
“Holiday Dining.” He gave tips like, “Only eat one or two small bites of your
dessert.” “Spend time talking to your fellow diners, make conversation between
bites.” “Fill up on vegetables.” “Eat slowly.” Well, those things actually occurred
to me as I sat there, but it was impossible! It was as if I were the victim in one of
those comedy routines where my arms are clasped behind my back and someone
else sticks their arms through mine and starts gesturing and moving the arms
like they’re mine. It was like that! My right arm was completely detached from
any signals coming from my brain. I’m a vegetarian, but this alien arm was
shoveling in huge forkfuls of turkey and gravy and pie and I sat there struggling
to consume it all. I think I actually started sweating I was eating so hard.

But, it was good. I mean, good. The Man's pecan pie was the best pecan pie I'd
ever, EVER tasted. Seriously, I wanted to put it on the floor and roll in it.

We did a head count at one point. There were approximately 170 total, diners
and servers. Every seat was filled and when a seat opened up, it was immediately
filled by more waiting customers. It was a steady stream that continued all the
time we were there. We weren’t rushed at all and spent a little while enjoying
our coffee and talking to some interesting people at our table. They were from
nearby Oberlin and, like us, had happened by days earlier and had seen the sign
out front. They were surprised too by the number of people and the excellence
of the fare. We'll probably see them there next year.

We were all so happy. It was a most enjoyable dinner. It was like having Thanksgiving
with family, except no one got drunk and there were no fights.

Thanksgiving is The Man’s favorite holiday. He said his dad, Chet, used to always
bring some homeless or family-less person home from the tavern he owned to
enjoy the family’s feast. This guest was always a last minute surprise for The Man’s
mother, but he said it always worked out okay.

In memory of Chet’s thankful spirit of sharing and giving,
I wish you all a very Happy Thanksgiving.

If The Hat Fits...

You're not going to believe it,
but I did something stupid.
I know that this is a shocking
revelation and that many of you
will have a conniption fit,
fall out of your chairs and
bump your heads.
But it's true.
I did something stupid.

It is truly amazing since I'm
known for my brilliance.
It's an innate quality, I humbly admit.
It requires no effort on my part.
It's just like being right all the time,
I don't have to work at it.
I'm some kind of mental freak, if you will.
That's why it's just incredible that
I did something so stupid.

In fact, it's so out of character that I'm convinced
there's something terribly wrong with me.
And, this is the scary part.
You see, I've been to Mexico and I've eaten pork tacos.

I know I don't have to explain what I'm talking about here.
I'm sure you've read the horrifying account in the newspapers.
I don't have television but I'm sure this must be a top story on
all the networks and that Katie Couric is doing a special on it.

Well, anyway, I'm sure the worm in my brain is the reason I dyed my hair!
(Oh, note to The Man: You don't want to read this. It'll only upset you.)

As I mentioned, I don't watch television. However, I'm still (apparently)
affected by societal pressures to fight the natural progression of age by
buying up worthless, over-priced, snake oil elixers and concoctions that
countless men and women AND even intellectual giants such as myself
across this great nation are purchasing with their last dollars in a futile
attempt to remain youthful and attractive forever!

Okay. So, now I've got the worm and society working against me.

Anyway, I happened to catch a glimpse of myself recently and noticed
how grey my hair is and how old and decrepit and fat and...did I mention "old?"
I made this observation a number of times in the past week.
It turned into a minor obsession, one which if The Man had been here,
would've been thumped on the head and sent to bed without it's supper.

So, now I've got the worm, society and the absence of The Man.
A deadly combination of Grecian mythological proportions.

The next thing I know I'm possessed (the worm!) by this obsession (society!)
and I find my lonely self killing time at Walmart of all places (The Man!)
I'm standing there in the hair dye aisle and I select a color..."Hazelnut."
How perky sounding!

I'm not sure who gave it that name.
A color-blind, nincompoop would be my guess.
Or a demented, lying-dog, trained squirrel maybe.

A more appropriate name would have been:
Vampira, Mistress of the Blacker-Than-The-Hole-of-Calcutta Night,
because that's who I look like, only chubbier with dark circles
under my eyes because I don't use concealer. A goth horror.
All I need now is some black fingernail polish and I'm on my way to
see Release The Bats perform at the next Drop Dead Festival!

However, there is a slight silver lining around my cloud of humiliation.
1. It's winter and hats are necessary.
2. They'll have to shave my head when I have the worm removed.
3. The dye I used is semi-permanent. It'll fade in time.

Time, of course, is a relative thing. Waiting for Christmas morning
or that wisdom tooth extraction scheduled for next May - those are
things that time will bring and I can patiently await.

But, hair that makes me look like Severus Snape is beyond the pale!

Oh well, I suppose there are more important things to worry about.

I can't think of anything right now, but I'm sure there's something.

I've been having strange dreams.

This morning I was awakened at 6:40 a.m.
by what seemed to be the beam of a
flashlight scanning the room and the
sound of a raven's wings fluttering rapidly
just above my head on the bedstead.

Why can't I just wake up all dreamy
and snuggly like normal people?

I opened my eyes but the light and
bird were gone, thank goodness.

I thought perhaps someone was in
the house so I laid there and just
listened for awhile but I only heard
the heater.

Then I decided to get up and see
who had died because that’s what I
figured the raven's flapping sound meant.
Death.

Geesh! This solitary existence is
making me morbid!

Not that I'm known for my optimism
even in the best of times, but still!

Other people get away from their
spouses for a few weeks and have a
good time. Party on, Dude! Whoo-hoo!
Dancing with lampshades on their heads,
and all that.

But, Me? Oh, I'm having nightmares
and being visited by Edgar Allan Poe
symbols of death!

'Course on the other hand, maybe
it wasn't a raven. It was probably
a big, fat DO-DO BIRD!

Because I can tell you for sure that
The Man isn't having bad dreams.
He's just snoring away in dreamland,
happily skipping down the yellow brick
road with the Georgini twins, I betcha!

The Coo-Coo Clock Companion

Today I sat in the house and listened.

Silence has a sound and it's louder than
the train whistle
and the barking dog
and the buzzing in my head.

I took some time and gave it my attention.
There's some thing in silence.
A thing of power and depth.
A thing inside me and out.

I want more of it.

Listen to it. It's a big sound. You can't miss it.

I wonder what it would sound like if for one minute
all sound on the planet was ceased. If everyone could
just stop what they're doing and stand still and be quiet.
All cars, all machines, all telephones and televisions and radios,
everything.

It'd probably kill us.

___________________________________________________

The Man returned to the place where all roads lead.

The day before he left I made him stop talking and listen to the quiet.
I told him that that was what I had to look forward to in the weeks ahead.

He heard it, too.

Now the coo-coo clock is my companion.
It ticks away the seconds
and pops out to say hello
on the hour
and the half hour...
actually it says "coo-coo,"
but I pretend it is saying hello.

Other than that I'm raking the leaves,
the mountains of leaves,
the endless prairie of leaves,
the oceans of leaves,
all consuming,
never ending,
eternal,
leaves.

If we used leaves instead of dollars for currency
I could personally bail us out of the national financial crisis
and, in addition, give every citizen a five thousand leaf
tax incentive stimulus check to be used however they want.

I have helpers.
Henry VIII. He's a squirrel and likes peanuts.
Jester The Bluejay likes to come in and snatch away the peanuts
which really gets H the 8th's goat.

If they could talk I'd bring them in the house.
The four of us could just sit there and have a cup of tea
or maybe play cards.
Me and Henry VIII and Jester and Coo-Coo.

Major Mall Man

There's this weird guy out at the local shopping mall. I call him Major Mall Man. He's at least 65 years old, fat, with thick spectacles, and is at the mall every single day dressed in some type of military combat uniform, of which he has several. He's got an Army Desert Camouflage uniform complete with beige Army boots, some kind of loden green outfit that he wears with a beret, and there's a dress uniform with little medals on it. I'm never sure which military force he's representing because I don't know my uniforms, but he's ALWAYS in complete, crisp uniform...everything but the guns.

He patrols the mall, in and out of the shops. It's obvious that he's on duty, you can see it in his face that he's keeping the mall safe from...whatever, probably terrorists or maybe Imperial Storm Troopers. Who knows. Sometimes he stops and talks to some of the shop workers, but usually he just walks the store perimeter with his hands clasped behind his back, like he's reviewing his troops. I've often seen him nod and utter a perfunctory "hello" to shoppers.

I hate it when he talks to me. First of all, the guy is NUTS and I'm not a trained psychiatrist. Secondly, I don't know him, I don't want to know him, and I don't want him to be aware that I even exist. Thirdly, he speaks condescendingly, like you're some peon, enlisted man, like he expects you to salute him. It's creepy.

Call me paranoid, but I am convinced that one day he's gonna show up with an AK-47 and blow us all away. Perhaps I've read too many mall horror stories, but this guy is odd and his oddity is neon pink with blinking lights all over it. He scares me.

So, here's the deal. I'm leaving the mall the other day and decide to stop in at the security office. I'm going to ask them about the faux military man and see what they can tell me about him. I want to tell them my concerns about some guy pretending to be a combat soldier. Just as I'm about to go in the office, a security man comes out. He's tall and thin with a neatly clipped mustache and he's wearing a blue, polyester, forest ranger-type uniform with a big, shiny gold badge on it, topped off with a stiff "Campaign Hat," just like Smokey The Bear! I'm not kidding!

I just stood there and gaped at him, my mind racing. Then, I mumbled "oh, hi" and walked away. I mean what was I going to say, "Hey, there's some weird guy dressed up in a funny uniform out there?" To which he would have replied, "Yeah, so?" I mean, they're probably brothers, or something!

I drove home picturing the two of them after hours, playing war games in Victoria's Secret.

The Debatable Humor of Vegetables

Will Rogers said, “An onion can make people cry but there’s never been a vegetable
that can make people laugh.”

Sorry, Will. I beg to differ.

I want to pass on something I learned the hard way. It’s a little gross so if you’re
easily disgusted don’t read the following small print. But, I think this is important.
I’m in the mood to share with you.

Eating beets makes your poop turn red and it looks like blood.

That’s it. Except for the fact that I love beets and have never had this problem before,
but last Saturday I bought two bunches of them at a local farmer’s market, brought
them home and served them for dinner. They were goooood and I ate a lot of them.

24 hours later I noticed a strange phenomenon and I don’t think it’s necessary to
elaborate. Let’s just say, “I saw red.”

The eating of the beets occurred to me and I assured myself all would be well.
However, the next morning things were actually worse...looking, if you know what
I mean, so I got panicky, my heart was racing, and my stomach was jittery. I went
out to bid farewell to The Man and to begin selling my organs on Ebay because I
was, by the evidence I’d seen, A GONER!

The Man, engrossed in his work, looked up at me with that “Who is this woman and
why is she in my house” look that he seems to be doing a lot of lately. But, I waited
until his eyes focused and I could tell he was back on the planet Earth with me. Then
I told him about my pending death. He looked at me quizzically then said, “Google it.”

Now, this is the good part of the story. I typed in beets poop red and got all this information
from people who knew all about this phenomenon and thought it was har har amusing.
Well, it’s only amusing if you know about it.

And, while on this subject I might as well mention asparagus – another “joker” on
the dinner table. For years I thought I had some recurring disease. I kept waiting
for the axe to fall, but then put two and two together and googled the asparagus-fume
phenomenon.

Luckily, my absolute favorite food is joke-free, so far anyway.

Rapini, also called broccoletti, broccoli di rape, broccoli raab, plus various other things.
I don’t know why it has so many names, but I love it. It’s the only food I can think
of that actually makes me moan when I eat it. It’s like that “I’ll have what she’s having”
scene from When Harry Met Sally. I told The Man that when I eat rapini it’s as if some
latent, neanderthalic gene is awakened, something from my ancient ancestors comes
alive and makes me want to pound a drum and dance naked around a bonfire in ecstasy.
I would rather have a plate full of rapini than anything else in the world. More than
chocolate cake, even. If I were a cat, rapini would be my ‘nip. I want to roll in it.

I am a woman of simple pleasures.

My GOBAMA is Gone

I'm really miffed this morning because some loser (and I mean loser!) stole the
Obama sign that I had in the front yard. I'm not sure when it was stolen, sometime
within the last two days because it was definitely there on election day. I can't
remember seeing it yesterday, but I remember thinking about how I'd better
take the sign down now that everything is over, etc. except now IT'S TOO LATE
BECAUSE SOME STINKING THIEF STOLE IT AND I'M REALLY MAD!"

It was an original sign, too, in that I'd taken some white paint and added a "G"
before the "OBAMA," underlined the "GO" and put an explanation point at the
end so that it read "GOBAMA!" I had done such a nice job on the lettering. It
looked professional, I mean it.

I was proud of that sign. Proud to have the opportunity FOR THE FIRST TIME
IN MY LIFE to put up a sign in support of hopes and dreams and intelligence and
fortitude and calm assurance and love and family and dignity and pride and promise
for the future and all that other things that the man Obama exemplifies for me.

What's weird is that the stinking thief also stole the other sign I'd placed out there
for a local politician named Murray. I'd seen him speak at a "candidates night" at
the library and in spite of the fact that he's an attorney (aren't they all?), a profession
for which I don't have much liking, he was so amazingly brilliant, articulate and
focused I wanted to show my support for him as well; hence, the sign.

So, that was it: two signs. Two signs that represented my enthusiasm and desire
for smart people to be elected, which they were, thank goodness.

But, now I want my signs. I want to stick them in the closet and find them in about
twenty years and look at them and think, "Well, lookie here. I remember putting
these up in the yard back there in ol' Lime Plant City. Those were some bad times
we went through. But, thanks to these here smart guys and many others like 'em,
we were all saved and now the world is a better place for everyone. We're all safe
and live in peace. We all have food to eat and clean water to drink. We're tolerant
instead of extremist. We're compassionate instead of hate filled. We're calm instead
of anxiety ridden. We are proud of our largesse rather than the size of our military.
We are ever growing, ever changing, adaptable to changes that create greater
sustainability for all people, and petty isolationist views have been replaced with a
sense of the wholeness of the earth and its inhabitants.

That's what I want to think when I see those signs in my closet in twenty years...but,
of course, I won't see those signs because some stinking thief stole them.

HAPPY FEAT!!

YES, WE CAN!!

YES, WE DID!!

Beside, B-side

I'm beside myself
I keep bumping into me.

It's so annoying.
But that's beside the point.

The problem is that I've already voted
so I'm totally bored with that subject.

It's like listening to the B-side of
Elvis' hit 45 record "Return to Sender"
which was "Where Do You Come From," in case you didn't know.
A pretty song but not the "hit," if you know what I mean.

So, this is why I'm beside myself
and keep bumping into me.

I need to set a new course,
move in a new direction
in a straight line
no bumping.

Besides that -
I have leaves to rake.