McDonald's Lobster Roll Review

     Off to McD's to get the new Lobster Roll, one only; I do not partake of lobster.  As it turned out, neither did the one for whom the lobster roll was intended.  I'd even brought along a cooler with ice pack, so the lobster would be fresh and tasty when it arrived home.  "How is it?" I asked the consumer.  "No lobster to speak of, nothing to taste but lettuce."  The cost for the lettuce sandwich with teeny shreds of lobster was $8.99.  I suggested that if he filed a complaint with management, they'd probably offer him another.  He said, "No, I don't want another one."

Senses Sympathy, Sham

     I am not proud of this and certainly would not attempt to take credit for any remaining aspect of my physical prowess, but I will say that though all my other senses may have declined, I retain one, that being a fairly decent sense of smell. For several weeks, I detected the odor of mildew in the area of the kitchen sink.  I looked beneath but everything was clean and dry.  I went down to the basement and followed the path of the plumbing and the wooden floor beneath where the sink would be.  All looked clear, with no evidence of leakage anywhere.  I poured Clorox into both drains of the sink, followed by boiling water.  I did the same with vinegar.  Each of those treatments took the odor away for only a day or so.  Finally, I researched the Handyman on Google.  He suggested pouring DRANO down the sink, to clear out the trap, he said.  I did so, about 2 weeks ago now, and so far the odor has not returned.  A success story.
    Yesterday morning, as I filled the teakettle, I smelled an unpleasant odor. At first I had the thought, "It's back again."  But almost instantly, my sense of smell registered not mildew, but something else, something dead.  I checked the trap behind the breadbox, which I had set just the day before, after Maybe signaled a mouse might be around, and that I might want to do something about it.  Sure enough, a mouse was in the trap, already starting to reek in the heat of June.  Mildew and dead mice are both bad smells, but they're not the same.  Discerning nostrils know the difference.
     Today I read the unfortunate conclusion to the search for a local woman who has been missing for a month.  Her body was found in  a wooded area near where she was last seen. An extensive search utilizing helicopters and tracking dogs had failed to find her.  The woods were deep and the foliage thick, so the helicopters would have been of little use.  But what about the tracking dogs?  The woman had been depressed, said her family.  She had evidently walked into the woods by herself, on foot. Her scent would have been available as an aid to the dogs.  How could they have missed her?  Decay would have started almost instantly.  I understand carrion dogs are sometime used in such instances.  So, Uncle Tom's Cabin aside, I wonder, how effective are tracking dogs anyway.  Same suspicion would apply to drug-sniffing dogs. The dog handler spies a likely looking subject at a bus station or such, and says, "Hey, Rover, let's go check out that suitcase over there."

Strawberries Field

   One of the reunion attendees reported she had picked 50 quarts of strawberries, for making jam, pies, etc.  I don't know whether it was at Hand Farm or Strawberry Acres. It reminded me that as yet I hadn't had any seasonal strawberries this year, which are the only ones worth buying, as far as I'm concerned.  The last two packs of California strawberries I bought went in the garbage. They looked fine but were pithy and dry.   Time was when the local supermarkets would carry fresh strawberries, but I haven't seen any this year.  I believe the growers do not want to share any of the goldmine that the strawberries represent.
  Since I was in the general area yesterday, I drove to Hand Melon.  Though the people I'd talked to said they were selling for $5.00 a "basket," the price on that Sunday was now $5.75, based, I presume, on whatever the traffic would bear.  The customers were streaming in.  A notice was posted saying you could pick your own for $2.75 per pound.
    Now I didn't care what the price was that day.  I was going to buy strawberries.  And I was not in the mood to pick my own.  But I couldn't help but wonder.  Since a pint equals a pound, the pick-your-own berries would be $5.50 per quart.  The berries I bought were in a blue cardboard package, with no mention of the size.  I weighed the container, with unhulled strawberries, and it weighed a pound and a half.  Who would know strawberries would come in a pint and a half container.  So I paid $5.75 for 1 1/2 pints.  I calculate the price to pick a pint and a half would be about $4.12.
     Such ambiguity:   a pound,  a pint, a quart, a container in between those 2 sizes.
     The berries I bought taste pretty good, but they are very small, so a lot of prep time, all that hulling.

The V-Word

   I guess that option is off the table:  no disappearing act. Running away or dropping out of sight would more than likely trigger a "Missing Vulnerable Adult" alert.  O the Horror!

Helpful Health Hints in Hindsight

   Sure,in the wake of the terrible death by alligator, the media doled out tips from the experts on how you should protect your family and self against alligator attacks.  Now that a bobcat has attacked a couple in this viewing area, the media is chiming in on how to avoid or survive bobcat attacks.  But nowhere have I heard or seen any help as what to do if an alligator accosts you while a bobcat is attacking you.  That  could happen.

Doctor Shortage

(1)I found out in March 2016 that my next year's annual visit would have to be with another doctor, my doctor to be retiring this summer. (2)  In June, I learned that my long-term doctor would not be available for my yearly follow up appointment that month because he was leaving the practice for another one.  (3)  Today I was told that  a follow-up appointment scheduled for July would have to be scheduled a month later, and with a different doctor in the practice, because my doctor was retiring.
   Only one of the doctors above notified me personally  of her retirement.  The other two just faded away.

Unstapled

   Today I broke the stapler.  All I did was insert a full sheaf of staples when there were already a few staples left in the track.  I don't know how that would disrupt the functioning of  a stapler, but it did.  Granted the stapler was old, at least 30 years, I would say.  And it had some rusty areas from long ago, from the water the firemen used to put out the fire in a burning house in Vestal.  Everything else in the building perished, except the humans, including all televisions and electronics.  They melted down into hardened blobs.  The stapler, being 100% metal, was undamaged, except cosmetically. What's a little rust?

Splatula

   While frying a hamburger, I rested the spatula against the side of the pan, something I've probably done many times before.  But maybe not with a rubber-handled spatula.  When I went to lift the burger out of the pan, the spatula was in two parts, with gooey tarlike residue cemented to the rim of the pan.  I served it anyway; what's a little extra creosote?

Blood Moon...

...and Summer Solstice.  Regardless, we are on the cusp.

Dorothy

December 29, 1939         June 1, 2011