The Bell Doth Not Toll, Not For Me

My phone is on the fritz. For the last 48 hours I have been unmoored. Disconnected from the larger reality.

It was nice in the beginning. Tranquil.

Now, not so much. Now I'm getting twitchy.

Oh well. Hopefully the bag of rice is working its magic and maybe -- knock on wood -- I'll have better news tomorrow.

Veteran's Day

My father was a Marine. He and two of his friends lied about their ages, so they could enlist.

This was just before World War Two.

My father was serving at Pearl Harbor when that happened. He once (only once) spoke of what it felt like when the bombs fell and everyone was blown into the water.

Later, he was serving at Guadalcanal when that happened. He never spoke of it, except to give me his copy of Guadalcanal Diary, which was inscribed by every member of his platoon. Before he handed it to me, he made me promise never to read it. I kept both the book and the promise to this day.

I was named after one of his two friends, the one who survived the Bataan Death March. I never found out what happened to the third friend, but I suspect he didn't survive the war.

Today, I remember them all, with respect.

Perchance Penuche...

The testing phase continues. Last Thursday's quiche turned out adequately. It wasn't superb, but I wouldn't be embarrassed to offer it as a side dish. Since that's all I wanted, I can tick it off the list.

Today, I'm following through on a truly controversial concept: pumpkin cookies.

Not that pumpkin cookies are controversial in themselves, I still have a recipe a coworker gave me in 1985. I think that counts as antique.

What's controversial is that I'm thinking of making pumpkin cookies instead of pumpkin pie this Thanksgiving.

Was that a gasp? At least now you know that I don't toss the word "controversial" around lightly.

Anyhow, I made pumpkin cookies with white chocolate chips and glazed them with penuche. I added the chips because I always find plain pumpkin cookies to be a little banal, but I didn't want to add nuts because that would mess with the flavor profile. White chocolate is just a bit of texture, and it doesn't interfere with the taste.

But damn, once I glazed them, they are sweet. I mean, the kind of sweet that makes your head tilt and one eye scrunch.

I'm going to give them away to a bunch of people and get some reactions before I make a decision. Watch this space for updates.

It's The Law

There's a reason why it's called Murphy's Law, not Murphy's Suggestion, or Murphy Thinks This Happens Occasionally.

It's a LAW.

Laws are not supposed to be broken, including this one. Keep that in mind.

Now the story:

I wanted to drive through a car wash because my car had gotten really dusty.

(Shut up, those of you who know what my car looks like. It's called patina. I'm talking about dust, which is removable.)

Anyhow, Robert and I ended up being far far away in an unfamiliar neighborhood for reasons which don't pertain to this story. We saw a drive-through car wash. I wanted to stop, but there was a line of five or six cars so we didn't.

That was yesterday.

Today I thought I'd go to our local drive through car wash. There was only one car waiting, so yay. Of course, by the time I paid and pumped my gas, I was the fifth car in line.

It's the law. Murphy's Law.

A Lyric Quandary

My mother is well into her nineties and forgets all sorts of things. Weird things, like the fact that she loves Pepperidge Farm Milano cookies. I had to remind her of that the last time I brought her some.

She also remembers all sorts of things. On Sunday, she told me a story from my childhood that I'd forgotten. Hell, she'd forgotten it for over fifty years. It was a great story, too.

Yes, yes, I know. Long term memories versus short term. I get it. I read the same articles.

But the thing is, you can't count on it. Not even on the long term. I won't mention what happened when I roasted some beautiful asparagus for her not too long ago, although I'd like the record to show that throughout my adult life, asparagus was the only vegetable I could get her to eat without complaint.

So now I'm in a quandary.

(Is one "in" a quandary or does one "have" a quandary? Whichever. There is a quandary and it's mine.)

Do I remind her about her wedding anniversary to acknowledge the occasion and risk triggering sorrow, or remind her in the hope that it will remind her of happy memories, or just not mention it at all?

There were years when I just "happened" to visit and she figured it out and said something. There were years when I mentioned it and made her sad. Sometimes, I'd point out that when my father was alive, neither one of them ever remembered to celebrate unless I reminded both of them in time for them to plan something. That didn't go over well even though it's true.

Like I said, a quandary.

Wouldn't it be amazing if "quandary" was the Merriam Webster(tm) Word Of The Day?

Let's check.

No, it isn't. Today's word is "Lyric; expressing emotion in a songlike manner".

So much for dictionary-mancy.

I'm not singing Happy Anniversary to her, nor anything else. Your Auntie doesn't sing.

The quandary wins.

Pie R Not Square

Auntie has a love-hate relationship with pie crust.

Love, because who doesn't love pie crust? It's my favorite form of bakey goodness.

Hate, because your Auntie makes truly sucky pie crust. To be fair, this comes under the heading of "better than no love at all" but still.

So far this year, I've watched two different videos and tried two different recipes. No, make that two videos and three recipes. I did 3-2-1 as well.

The problem is that once upon a time, pie crust used to drop in exquisite buttery flakes from my fingers. I was really good at it. This isn't incipient dementia, or false memories. There were witnesses.

But since I only make pie at the holidays, at some point in the last ten years, a spring or a summer of forgetfulness made me lose the knack. Maybe I was hit on the head or something, and it damaged the pie crust lobe of my brain.

So now, every year, I start early and practice. There's a fresh crust blind-baking in our oven right now. This very minute.

If it comes out, it will become my fourth or fifth quiche in two weeks. I'm trying a new kind of filling, too.

Cross your fingers and wish me luck.

Ctrl A Delete Delete

You're welcome.

I just deleted a long and whiny draft because Auntie loves you and wants you to be entertained. A weak heh is better than a frowning "Yeah, that's true, but what's the point?"

So where shall we find our weak heh today? Let's randomize.

Today's Merriam-Webster Word Of The Day(tm) is... drumroll, please, while I find my phone and load up the app:

Chilblain; A swelling from exposure to the cold.

Right. Okay, not quite a heh, except insofar as today's weather forecast for Los Angeles is in the 70's. I think they're based on the east coast, though, so it probably wasn't meant facetiously.

Let's switch technologies and consult the Magic 8 Ball(also tm) for a comment. I often find that my Magic 8 Ball(tm) is more reliable than an app:

"You may rely on it."

Heh.