Easy Hospitality and Then Some

OK you guys…it’s been a while. My brain has been packed full of things other than you.

And for that I am deeply sorry.

Ok, maybe just a little sorry. I don’t feel like writing much b/c I am exhausted. If you follow me on Facebook, you are privy to tiny little quips of what I hope is kind of, sort of, funny.

Frankly that’s about all I have been able to muster for most of the past 11 weeks.

But who’s counting, right?

Well, I am certain you all are, as I know I have been missed.

OK, maybe just my mom has been counting. And possibly my grandma (if she’s remembered to check).

Other than that, I have my doubts.

And that is ok by me…because much as I want to read my friend’s blogs (as well as the blogs of people I simply stalk but pretend like we are friends)…I do not have time. 

Or I do not MAKE time. I'll own that.

Seriously people…I am spent by the end of the day.

Which means I know I cannot be upset if people do not read my blog. Now or ever again.

Now, don’t get me wrong…I love love love The Little Man and I am thankful for the opportunity to care for him, but there are so so so many things about this system which are broken so badly that dealing with them is kind of weighing a little bit heavy.

It’s tiring to deal with all that. If I only had to add The Little Man into my schedule? 

Piece.of.cake. Truly.

Even the NG tube is not a big deal at all at this point.

But…all the crap we have to deal with. Yeah. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.

But I can’t tell you anyway…privacy and all that business.

I didn’t intend to even say all that…it’s sort of just spilling out.  I suppose that’s what happens when you are accustomed to blogging several times a week and then suddenly go cold-turkey for a while.

True, I have posted a handful of things, but still. Mostly it’s radio silence.

I don’t think I’m using that term correctly but it’s what popped into my head so there you go: out it came.

You may be, by now, wondering why I titled this post “Easy Hospitality”.

Or you may not have even noticed or taken the time to look b/c quite frankly it doesn’t usually seem to matter.

Well, I am here to tell you people today that it DOES matter.

It matters a great deal.

Ok, not really.

But it is kind of, sort of pertinent to the post…so it does have that going for it.

(There's a first time for everything, right?)

You may have noticed a few days ago my post on Instagram or my FB page a photo of two cookbooks I received from my 96-year old Grandma. She just moved to an assisted living apartment which is about 5 minutes from my house (after living in the same apartment for over 15 years, and prior to that, the same house for probably at least 50…that’s my fuzzy math, btw so don’t hold me to any of those numbers. Except the 5 minutes from my house…that part is totally true.)

Anyway…in cleaning out her kitchen cabinets, my aunt came across some cookbooks (as well as other various and sundry items…hey, Christmas is coming up and you never know what you might be able to give people; note: if you may be receiving a gift from me for Christmas, you will be getting a real treat from me this year, I assure you!) and asked if I wanted them.

Well, we are into the third month of “7” and we are supposed to be giving away items.

But instead, I happily took in two boxes of Grandma’s things. And regrettably I was remiss in my blogging skills and neglected to take a picture of the treasures within.

Please forgive.

So you’ll have to just trust me and put on your imagination caps to picture the items in your mind.

Ready?

I got a couple nice skillets.

Some cream-colored, woven placemats.

And my FAVORITE item (after the cookbooks, of course) were some shower caps.

Now…I must explain…they were NOT actually shower caps. But they certainly looked like them.

And I guarantee if I had used them as shower caps, they would have functioned perfectly well.

Now, knowing that these items were from the kitchen, what do you suppose these “mystery” items actually were?

Well, I didn’t have a clue and my mother had to set me straight.

They were covers to put over dishes.

I suppose the fact that they had images of lemons all over them SHOULD have been my clue. 

But nope.

I didn’t get it at all.

Too subtle.

And now that I have outed myself for my lack of knowledge that a shower cap can also double as a food dish cover (keep that in mind, people, should you ever visit a hotel that has “complimentary” shower curtains in its little goodie basket in the bathroom. You can always bring it home and use it to cover your food. You.are.welcome.)…I shall now move on and tell you all about that thing which prompted this whole post: the cookbooks.

Now…because I am sold out on “7” (ok not to make fun…I love love love the concept…I am having trouble with the implementation) I opted not to KEEP all the cookbooks. So I shall only be sharing with you today the ones which I kept.

And are all, of course, from the 1950s.

And let me preface this (and that’s funny b/c I have droned on for pages and pages by this point, but I digress) by saying: I don’t like these cookbooks for their recipes. 

In fact, some of them sound down-right disgusting as you will see for yourselves.

They have other redeeming qualities which I hope you will enjoy as well.

First up: Betty Crocker’s Bisquick Party Book. From 1957.

My favorite part is the fact that from 1957 to now, Bisquick hasn’t come up with too many new ideas. I have a whole BIG cookbook that is only Bisquick recipes, and I am 100% certain that every recipe from this 1957 throwaway booklet which Grandma certainly picked up at the grocery (it has a perforated page at the back where a coupon, presumably, was torn off at some point) is in my book from a few years ago.

If it ain't broke, dont fix it, right?

Next up: Spry 20^th Anniversary Cookbook. From 1955.

I had to do a tiny bit of investigative reporting (I am a paid professional) to figure out what exactly “Spry” is/was.

OK, not much investigating, actually...it was discussed on the inside cover of the book. But hey, I had to OPEN the cover so that took some (albeit marginal) effort.

Don't judge.

Spry was vegetable shorting, lest you be unaware.

Maybe they still make it, but I’ve never heard of it.

And if I’ve never heard of it then, well, I can’t imagine there’s much to it then…

But I digress.

My favorite part of this cookbook falls under the description of the item. Now I have to say, first of all, I understand what they are trying to convey…it’s just an interesting word choice.

And perhaps the very reason this product is no longer being made…

“It’s bland in odor and flavor”

Well, if that doesn’t sell your food product, what would? Who wouldn’t want their food to be bland in odor and flavor.

I know, I know…it is vegetable shortening but still. I think they probably could have selected some better word options.

And last, but not least (definitely not least...in fact, it is totally the best, I am excited for those of you who made it this far in my ramblings to enjoy this): Easy Hospitality. From 1951.

Oh my darling friends. You are about to get a real treat. I needed a laugh and this cookbook did not fail me.

This cookbook was published by the Coca-Cola Company and contained recipes, as well as entire menus, in which to include such recipes.

Of course every last menu included Coca-Cola or a Coca-Cola item, but that kind of goes without saying (even though I’m saying it…).

What I hope you will find as amusing as I did are the menu titles…these are suggestions for when such menus should be put into play.

You are going to get a bit of a picture overload, because frankly I am tired (it’s getting late…for me, anyway; don't judge) and you really needed to see these in context.

And honestly, there were so many to choose from that I didn’t even try to contain myself.

So here they are in no particular order…except the very last one: it’s my favorite.

This could apply to virtually any day this week...

Now...there are two more. They have battled in my mind for days (not really) on which should take top billing. And I have made my decision.

In second place:

Because, quickly frankly, liver paste? I thought you wanted that permanent to look GOOD! And you're serving liver paste to the people helping you?

And now, the drumroll please! Taking First Place in the competition in my mind:

Because this happens to me ALL the time...all my time working on those dresses really sucks up my day.

Hope I'll be back before another 11 weeks fly by, but no guarantees! Thanks for sticking with me!

The Indigo

So a few years ago...ok I'll be honest, it was 26 years ago...I visited Charleston, SC with my parents.

And there were two things which stood out in my mind, lo these many years, regarding the trip: that many of the historic homes had earthquake bolts which basically screwed damaged houses back together following the earthquake of 1886, and to be perfectly honest in my mind they were due to the civil war, not the earthquake (bc I did not recall that they were called earthquake bolts...I only remembered what they did, not why they did it. Basically I knew enough to be dangerous. Give me a break...it was 26 years ago!). 

But the other thing I remembered was staying at The Indigo Inn.

And most specifically: the concierge at the time named Larry. 

Now before I continue, I have a confession which will not be news to most, if not all, of you lovely people: I live under a rock. 

And have lived under said rock my entire life. 

Which is why my encounter with Larry 26 years ago was memorable; he was the first person I'd truly experienced who was "into fashion".

Do we all understand what that means? Lest you be confused, I mean he was (and most likely still is) gay. 

Now...because I live under a rock, my experience up to that point with people who were "into fashion" was limited. At least as far as I knew...if you were gay in Greenwood, Indiana in the 1970's and 80's, you were probably not overly flamboyant about it. 

Or if you were, you weren't in my social circle. 

Not because I didn't want you there...I don't know the reason exactly. But you just were not. I'm terribly sorry if that offends you.

So when I happenstanced (not really the right word, but it's fun to say so I included it there) upon Larry, it was an impressionable moment. 

And frankly my moment with Larry was brief. I shall set the scene for you: we were in the hotel lobby. My dad had asked the concierge (whose name I did not yet know) about a specific place we were interested in checking out for dinner.  

So the concierge, in what is typical concierge fashion (pardon the pun...I assure you that it was completely unintended) he called the restaurant. 

When the party on the other end of the line answered, our concierge said, "Hi, this is Larry at The Indigo..." 

And I don't have any idea what he said after that but those seven words and the pitch of his voice are etched into my mind and I can recall it as if it just happened yesterday.

Maybe that makes me a horrible person...I hope not. I'm just relaying an experience I had as a teenager.

So...while that might or might not be funny to you, I am not finished with this little ditty. 

Fast forward to this vacation in which we returned not just to Charleston but also to The Indigo Inn. Mostly because my parents had heard this story about Larry and I had shared it with my children, and as an aside, my children also live under a rock but theirs is not nearly as large as the one under which I grew up. 

While we were at The Indigo Inn this time, my parents had trouble with the AC in their room. 

If you've ever been to Charleston, even in October, you know an AC on the fritz is not acceptable. 

So the custodian was checking it over. And my dad was chit-chatting with him. And somehow (don't ask me how...I was not privy to this conversation), it came up that the custodian had been there for 30 years. 

Now...here was an obvious opening. Obvious to some, anyway. 

I probably would have kept my mouth shut (ok, I probably would not have...that's kind of a lie; in many ways I am my father's daughter) my dad barreled right through. He asked if the guy remembered a concierge from 26 years ago named Larry.

The guy did, and even said he'd come back recently for a visit...blah blah blah, those details aren't important.

The best part is that my dad never explained WHY he was asking; I cannot even imagine what the custodian was thinking...

The courtyard where we ate breakfast and had afternoon cocktails...very hoity-toity, right?

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Something about Hydrophilic Tails

First I must preface this post with an apology for once again falling off the planet for a few days.

I know that your hopes and dreams rise and set with the publishing of each new blog post, so I’m sorry to have left you in a lurch these past few days.

I have no excuse other than this: “Divergent”.

So yeah, after much coaxing, cajoling, and whining (ok, not so much the whining, but the other two for sure) by my 13yo, I began reading it.

And since he’s not a “reader” that should have been my clue that it was pretty good.

As an aside, I’m certain that his affinity for the books have nothing at all to do with the girl (one of my future DILs perhaps…my fingers are crossed!) who has been giving him reading assignments which have helped propel him through the book series.

I mean, the boy’s been staying up to read and reading on his own time…all to keep this girl from “yelling” (she’s not a yeller that I have ever seen, BTW) at him.

But again…I am CERTAIN she has nothing to do with his interest in the books…

I digress…

And while I do not find “Divergent” to be the finest piece of literature ever written, the story is thought-provoking and engaging.

Clearly…as it has been enough to keep me from you lovely people.

Not that I am all that far along in it (ok, true confession…I’m on chapter 29 out of 36)…but my spare moments have been spent reading instead of blogging.

I’m certain that you understand.

And now, with that matter of my humble little apology out of the way, I bring you my actual reason for writing.

_____________________________

So…I saw on FB yesterday a video with this little experiment.

I found it interesting enough to share it with you lovely people…because I know how you love it when I do this. Because who doesn’t love little sciencey-type things with little to no practical application to daily life?

Preschool teachers, that’s who.

So yes, mostly I am thinking that my vast array of preschool-teaching friends will latch on to this; but I know my audience. I know that there are others out there who may want to try it. Just for funsies.

And still others may just find it interesting, whether they actually perform the experiment or not.

The rest of you can simply by-pass this whole thing altogether. You’ve already opened the file so it will count in my “views” so we’re all good there.

Because that’s what I live for.

Don’t judge.

Now, as opposed to all the other preschool-type activities I have done, there’s no cutesy name for it.

So if you can come up with one, I’d love to use it. Just submit your suggestions in the comments below…because I also live for comments.

Don’t judge.

Now because I have strung you along for a while (so you feel like you’re getting your full money’s worth from this post), I shall delve into the experiment.

It’s really quite simple…here’s what you need. You know that I don’t like to “assume” so instead I would venture to guess that most of you have all 3 of these ingredients in your home:

• Milk (whole works better but any other kind would work too, but to a lesser degree)
• Food coloring
• Dish soap
• A plate or pan or something to put the whole concoction in (and yes, I am ending my sentence with a preposition…don’t judge. As an aside, you seem to be very judgmental today…not your best side, I must admit.)

Begin by putting enough milk in the pan to cover the bottom, but the milk doesn’t need to be very deep.

Then put in a few drops of food coloring…I would use as many colors as you have so you can really see the reaction.

Make sure to spread them out, not clumping (yes it is a real word, in fact…no red squiggly line underneath it or anything) the drops all together.

Then put in 2-4 drops of liquid dish soap.

Sit back and watch the fun.

Now for those of you who want to know the why what happens happens (read that aloud if you need to…I know it looks odd, but I wrote what I meant to say right there; it makes sense, even if I’m getting all sorts of squiggly lines under it in Word), the best I can offer you is this explanation which someone typed under the original video I watched on FB.

And yes, I lifted it directly from her post, so any typos, grammatical errors, etc…don’t try to pin them on me. I’m not going down for them.

But this will at least give you a semblance of an idea of why this happens. She seems to know what she’s talking about and I’ve never known her to lie.

In fact, I’ve never really known her at all.

I think it has to do with the fact that dish soap has molecules that have hydrophobic "heads" and long hydrophillic "tails" and act as surfactants. The hydropobic heads will surround the fats from the milk; at the same time, the hydrophillic tails will mix with the watery part of the milk (and food coloring, which is water soluble). The dish soap will move around the surface of the milk and try to gather larger and larger pieces of milk fat together; as it does, the food coloring will mix together.

Oh…one more thing. I did take a video of our experiment. And since I do not have a Youtube account, I can’t post it here…because Blogger won’t let me.

At least, I can't figure out how to do it...which may or may not mean that Blogger "won't let me". I don't mean to disparage Blogger, but...

However, I won't leave you twisting in the wind entirely: you can see it on FB and Instagram…because contrary to what you may have guessed, I have stumbled upon out how to post video there.

Go figure.

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Opportunity Missed

A couple days ago, I regrettably missed a grand opportunity for the PBA to think I had telepathic abilities.

We were at a stop light (or "traffic signal" as Mr. AR has trained me to call them…they’re in his line of work, lest you be unaware) and were parked in the left turn lane.

I sat “parked” because we had a car in front of us and a semi behind us; we were going nowhere fast.

Now this particular intersection is very busy. In fact, I believe it has the highest number of accidents for an intersection in our county. I found be mistaken on that though so do not quote me on that.

And if you don’t live in Greenwood, Indiana you probably don’t even know to which intersection I am referring...just going out on a limb here.

If you do live here, you probably DO know to which intersection I am referring…it’s the one which will be immeasurably worse once Wal-mart opens.

I can’t even talk about it, I’m so mad about it. Not so much the Wal-mart (though, let the record show that I loathe it entirely),

Say that like this:

OK…here’s the rest of my sentence: but what the traffic “flow” (I use the term loosely because there most definitely will not be any flow to the traffic) will resemble: a train wreck.

But I digress…

So when we pulled up to the light, it was green but not a green arrow. For those of you unfamiliar with how this works, when the arrow is green you have permission to turn left…always. If the light is green but the arrow is not, you have permission to turn but only if there's no traffic coming. The whole “right-of-way” thing comes into play…which is confusing because it’s a left turn.

Also, if there's a sign telling you that you can’t turn unless there’s an arrow, then you can’t actually turn unless there’s an arrow.

We do not have such a sign at this intersection; I include this tidbit if information to educate my adoring fans. Plus I do not want to be on the hook if one of you chooses to ignore said sign and tell the judge at your court date, “But Mrs. Always Random said I could turn if the light was green!”

Much as I love you all, I’m not going down for anybody!

I also share this rule because I have been, on more than one occasion, behind someone who clearly is unaware that this rule exists. And he or she just sits there.

Which means we all sit there, like idiots!

Say that like this:

Yes, I was clearly channeling some of my favorite comedic scenes when I wrote this…but I like to think it helps my readers understand the tone and mood with which I am speaking…agreed?

Even if you don’t agree, I shall continue to use them…that’s how I roll.

And we’re back: in this situation, the woman in front of me was right to sit tight and wait.

However she’d taken it upon herself to ooze into the middle of the intersection to wait her turn. Which meant that she was very much in the way when the light turned yellow and then subsequently red…as traffic signals are prone to do (unless there’s a problem with them…then they don’t always work that way. But you get my point).

And when the light turned yellow and then red, instead of punching the gas as any lucid person (i.e. I) would do, she backed up.

Fortunately I had given her a wide berth (very much out of character for me, as I usually scoot right out there into the intersection too…I don’t want anyone to feel lonely hanging out by him or herself; I’m a giver) at that intersection because I know you have to be somewhat aggressive to get through that green light…it doesn't tarry.

So yes, she backed up. Kind of. Her nose was still definitely in the intersection. And I know this sounds judgmental and presumptive (probably because it is) but I could see just the top of her permed and what-appeared-to-be-recently-set white hair, barely visible over the top of her seat.

Take that info for what it's worth. I think you know what I’m getting at here.

But I noticed something, rather astutely I might add, because I'm a good defensive driver. Mr. Price from Tom Sneva's School of Safe Driving would be proud, a man who actually scared me to death.

What did I notice, you are undoubtedly asking, because I lost my train of thought…I noticed that her reverse lights were still on as she sat there…still slightly in the middle of the intersection. I don’t judge that.

OK, yes I do.

Increasingly concerned with her proximity, I backed up closer to the semi, hoping that we wouldn't be pushed into its front grill.

The whole thing was a little dicey, in case you couldn't tell.

  

This is where my would-be telepathy skills came into play. I said “Boys, I don't want you to worry but do you see this woman in the car in front of us? She's got her car in reverse. What do you think is going to happen when the light turns green and she tries to go forward?”

They stared out the windshield for several seconds before the 13yo said, "Ummm, how could you possibly know that?"

11yo: “Yeah, are you some kind of a witch?”

  

Now, this presented me with a road diverged and I took the one most traveled.

Or maybe it's the least traveled.

Either way...I told them how I knew she was in reverse. I shall blame my non quick-witted response on my lack of sugar as of late.

I actually clued them in on the whole reverse light thing…and not only that, went on to tell them about brake lights and rear lights.

I was spewing forth like a vertable fount of automobile information.

Lest you think them completely un-versed in all things car-related, they had already picked up (on their own) on the whole “turn signal light business.”

They are also astute.

Like mother like son I always say.

That's not true; I have never said that.

When the light turned green, the lady just sat there...which did not help my level of comfort about the situation.

Then I heard the semi-driver behind me honk. "Good Lord, man! Don't you see that she's in reverse?"

That's not EXACTLY what I thought...but this is a family-friendly blog so I will clean it up a bit.

I'm going to presume that he did not, in fact, attend Tom Sneva's School of Safe Driving.

Oh course, my heart lept out of my chest, because the L.A.S.T. thing I would want to happen is for her to panic because she's being honked at and hit her gas hard.

Fortunately for us, she did not hit it hard. Or if she did, her definition of "hitting it hard" and mine are completely different.

I don't judge...and frankly, in this instance, I was relieved.

She apparently tapped her gas pedal lightly. A couple times, actually. I can only assume the confusion when she went backwards instead of forwards, as she had planned.

But she finally figured it out. Once the green arrow was gone. 

She turned left anyway...which may or may not have been what she should have done in the first place.

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A Huge Blog Fan

See...I told you that I wouldn't just talk about The Mutiny...look at me being kind of shallow today. I know...it's really what the people want, right?
_________

I had always dared to dream that someday a fan of my blog would approach me and confide that my writing had changed her life.

I suppose I would be equally excited if it was a man, but as the scene plays out in my head, it’s always a woman.

That right there tells you the level of my vanity….I’m assuming there’s at least one “fan of the blog”.

I know I joke about it, but it’s truly not that I think my writing is all that spectacular…but I hope that other people think that it is.

I struggle with it…I’ll admit I OFTEN struggle with it. There are so many things I almost do not post b/c I’m not sure it’s good enough/interesting enough/filtered enough.

If you read my blog at all, you know that “almost do not post” does not mean that they don’t get published. Because frankly, most of it does.

While I’m going down this “true confessions” lane, I will confess that above all else, I wonder what would make people want to read this blog.

And more importantly, what would make them come back and read more. (I am truly not meaning to pander for compliments here, just feedback. Feel free to weigh in on the comments with why you read this blog, because I honestly want to know...I want to give the people what they want!)

I have given this some thought and this would be the pinnacle of all praise (at least in my little blogger mind): if someone went back to the very beginning of my blog and read every single post.

Mind you…I am uber-thankful to those of you who have hung in there since the beginning. And I do mean “hung in there” because I know not every post is a homerun. I try but sometimes I have “a swing and a miss”.

Yes, a baseball reference from someone who despises baseball. Just because I don’t like the game doesn’t mean I don’t know a little something about it.

When I first met Mr. AR, he played softball…which is not the same thing as baseball but in my mind it is close enough. I can only assume it is close enough for most of you as well.

It's enough for the reference...that's what I'm all about.

But there is one thing that makes softball better than baseball: softball games have time limits.

Yeah, I said it.

But I have digressed.

In terms of people reading all my posts, what I was talking about was/is someone who is just now “meeting me” and who takes the time to go back and read them.

All.

Every.single.one.

Because that’s true love right there.

Or maybe stalking. It’s kind of a fine line.

I have done that with only one blog and the writer was a woman who hadn’t even written a new post in over a year…she still hasn’t written anything new. She just stopped. Cold turkey. 

But she left her blog out there. Odd, huh?

(In fact, I’m still waiting for her to write something new. That’s a good blog right there…leave them wanting more.)

I’m sure some of you were maybe thinking that I was on the verge of doing the same, when I dropped off the planet for a few days last week.

Even my mother was harassing me about it.

OK, not really “harassing” but when I mentioned my lack of time to write, her response was, “I know…I keep checking the blog and there’s nothing new!”

So at least my mother enjoys my writing. Or at least pretends to.

And possibly my dad too.

But I have digressed.

My point in all this (as you may or may not have guessed) was to tell you this: I met someone last week who opened with "I am a huge blog fan!"

Squee!!!!

I don’t think I actually, audibly said that…but maybe.

It’s all kind of a blur.

I think I almost passed out.

Oh yes. For reals.

Or not…I’ve been known to embellish sometimes. A hyperbole, if you will.

I think I kept my cool, though…I’ve got a reputation to uphold for crying out loud. Calm, cool, and collected.

And yes, it wasn't that my blog had changed her life...but it was close enough for me to claim it in the moment.

Over the course of our conversation, she shared that she was considering writing a blog, but wasn’t sure on the theme. She said that she’d considered writing about her daughter because, as she shared, she and her husband only have one child and (to quote her…I’m such a journalism major, attributing my quotes) “people always think that's weird.”

Of course, I interrupted to share that I, myself, am an only child.

And her response was, "You are?!? I love meeting well-adjusted only children!"

My heart sank. Did she just say “well-adjusted”? She did say she reads the blog, right? I think she needs to go back to the beginning and read all the way through, don’t you, because I’m not certain that “well-adjusted” is a word that’s ever been used to describe me.

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