Counterintuitivity

    My mother didn't comment much about anything to do with cooking. It was mostly a necessary duty for her, not an indulgence.  But I recall her saying, as she made dumplings from the recipe on the Bisquick box, "Wouldn't you think that the pot should be covered for the first 10 minutes and then uncovered for the following 10 minutes instead of the other way around?"   To this day, I think of her words  every time I make dumplings.  No matter how frequently I've done so, which has to be scores and scores of times by now, I always have to check the box to see when to put the lid on and when to remove it.  I agree with her; it does seem the procedure should be reversed.
   A  month or so ago, I filled a prescription for eye drops at the drug store.  The pharmacist advised  me to keep the unopened bottle in the refrigerator.  Then, after I opened it and began to use it, the bottle should be kept at room temperature. This didn't sound right to me, so I asked her the reason for what seemed contrary to the advice for most products, pharmaceutical or otherwise. She wasn't sure why, but that is indeed what is written on the accompanying literature. Her best speculation was that testing was probably done that way.  She said I could keep the opened bottle in the refrigerator if I wanted to.
    I think the next time I make dumplings, I'll throw caution to the winds and reverse the lid placement procedure.  I'm not sure if I can treat the eye drops with such reckless abandon.  I've yet to begin their use.
   

The Express Dinner

   I didn't win PowerBall or any of the other contests or drawings I've been entered in. But today was different: an email from THE EXPRESS informed me I had won a prize at The Perfect Noodle.  The prize was a pound of home made noodles and 6 cannolis, also homemade.
   When my first 3 or 4 grandchildren were born, I remember paying a fee for birth announcements published in The Express, about $25 or so, as I recall.   However, by the time Theo was born, the editor and owner said there would be no fee, as they didn't get many birth announcements and they liked to publish them.  Then, when I sent in Madeleine's picture, I decided to subscribe to the paper, out of gratitude and maybe a little guilt.  Aliceanna's announcement was yet to come.
   Shortly after I  subscribed, I won a $25 gift certificate to The Olde Mercantile. The selected gift turned out to be a lovely floral decoration.  And now, a pound of fresh pasta.
   My life is so uneventful now that this was a major event.  I hied on over to The Noodle, and after a few problematic attempts to find a legitimate parking spot, entered the store.  I don't know if I ever was in there before, even when it was under other ownership.  (My college student used to be an avid consumer of the Michele's sub sandwich, though I thought they were horribly oily.)  Several Noodle employees were busy utilizing their skills.  I explained my reason for being there and chose linguine and 3 plain and 3 chocolate cannolis. Again, feeling the familiar combination of gratitude and guilt, I purchased a jar of sauce. I was told it would be the best sauce I'd ever had. Pretty much the same glowing review for the cannolis.  I was skeptical, not because I doubted her word but because I do not have a discriminating palate.  Besides, I don't really care for pasta, or sauce.  And contrary to what I might have expected of myself, given my affinity for desserts, I've never really liked cannolis.    
    Tonight for supper, we had linguini with the sauce, LA Fede, made in Italy.  I had been cautioned to cook the noodles for only 2 1/2 to 3 minutes.  I let them cook only slightly longer, but they still were definitely al dente, a contrast to my usual method of preparation.  The much vaunted sauce, costing more than twice the price of super market sauce tasted like------ sauce.  That didn't surprise me.  I can never remember what food tastes like anyway, so I have no basis for comparison.  I used only half a jar and refrigerated the rest, so we will be able to  conduct a taste test for any epicures who show up at our door.
     Years ago, when the Schaghticoke Fair participated in The Pepsi Challenge, I could always determine which was Coke and which was Pepsi, but that's the limit of my taste buds.
   

 

"No, no, no"

    People, including famous TV hosts, are such sheep in a way.  I know the Rule of 3 is a powerful governing force, but that shouldn't mean all conversation has to be punctuated with the words, "Yeah, yeah, yeah."   And, Kelly Ripa, this means you too.

Black Market Product?

   Some things I just don't understand. One of them is the widespread appeal to buy diabetic test strips.  The want  ads are everywhere, from the bulletin board at the grocery store to want ads in almost every newspaper.  It sounds like a black market item, but evidently not illegal since the ads to buy are so open.  Maybe more of a gray market?  Say the strips are expensive, but covered by Medicare for patients with diabetes. So those diabetics without coverage cannot afford them, and want to buy them cheaper than pharmacy prices.  But the diabetics who have coverage for the strips should be using them, one would think, rather than selling  them.  Do people fake having diabetes so they can get the strips and then sell them?  How much profit can there be in the sale of hot (or warm) diabetic test strips?
     I notice that those who sponsor the local online community garage sales will not allow baby formula to be sold on the site, the reason being that parents are issued a free government supply, but sell it instead of feeding it to their babies.  Hopefully, the babies are fed something which at least equals the benefits of the formula.  I don't know of a substitute for a diabetic test strip though.

Really, Fire Company?

I am holding a pot holder distributed by a local fire company.  It is printed with the words, "PREVENT FIRES   NEVER WALK AWAY FROM A STOVE WHILE COOKING."  

Friday Night

  We were invited to dinner and a movie in Schaghticoke this evening.  Dave was transported by Uber.  I thought I might drive over later, but I don't like shrimp scampi so I stayed home and ate half of a frozen Pepperidge Farm Coconut Cake instead.

So long ago, yet near in memory

   I was driving today from my house to the outside world.  I hadn't gotten very far when I saw something that tore at my heart.  It was the sight of a woman shoveling snow from her walkway.  Her name is Teresa and I believe she's nearing retirement age from her position as a school administrator.
     One of those clarified moments in time struck me, from the time of my high school years.  We, my sister and I and her best friend Sandy had returned from a rooter's bus trip to an away basketball game.  We had been in our kitchen late at night, talking and maybe drinking cocoa,  my parents already having gone to  bed. Sandy left for home.  Dorothy had probably walked her at least part way home, as that was their usual practice, which sometimes extended into a lengthy series of each then walking the other part way home until the mathematics of it overcame them and they would dissolve into hysterical laughter, even at unseemly late hours.  But this was December and there was snow on the ground and lightly falling.  Dorothy had returned and we were still up.  We were never in any hurry to go upstairs to bed.  Who needed sleep back then.
    In a short time, there was a rapping on the living room window, the one nearest the chair where my mother sat in the evenings.  We looked out and saw Sandy, who was excited and laughing. "I've got a baby sister," she yelled through the window.
    In my mind, I still see us as the girls we were then even though that newborn baby girl is now ending her career after a lifetime of work.  Well, bless my soul, what's wrong with me?