Category House and Home

What to my wondering eyes…

Michael 14 Comments

A couple of days ago I had remarked in a comment that I don’t have a Bucket List. I went on to say that I mostly take things as they come but that there might some places or things I like to see or do if circumstances get me part of the way there. Of course I couldn’t give myself an opening like that without then starting to think of some of the places circumstances happened to lead.

Where I am, just off Chestnut Ridge in the Allegheny range, there are several small commercial caves including the only catacombs type cavern on this side of the country (or at least I’ve been led to believe). It’s a place I’ve been to enough times that although I wouldn’t go out of my way to explore a cave, if I happened to be around one with a particularly effective marketing plan hawking its presence, I might stop by. Thus it was that I happened to be sitting in my then living room with my then wife at my then house for the few years way back then in the middle of Texas looking for something to do the upcoming weekend. Then we realized we were only a half dozen hours’ drive from the cave of all caves, Carlsbad Caverns.

Going to Carlsbad was going to see a natural wonder. And the caves are pretty neat too. Yes, for as wonderful as the Caverns are (and they were) (then and I’m sure still), getting there should be on anybody’s bucket list and it’s not even the most scenic part of New Mexico. And if we hadn’t decided to see how the big western cave measured up to our back yard caverns, it was a scene I’d have missed.

NiagraFallsFrom the first time I saw the picture of the Niagara Falls on the can of spray starch on my mother’s ironing board I knew I had to see it. If I had thought of doing a bucket list when I was 6 years old that didn’t include a new bike, ice skates, and an never ending jar of chocolate covered raisins, “see Niagara Falls” would have been on it. And see them I had. I’m not sure how many times I’ve been to the falls but it’s been “some.” But always from the Canadian side. There is the spectacular Horseshoe Falls and the most spectacular views – including the one on the can. Until the time I ended on the American side. It was a long weekend gifted me and my then She by her offspring. And it was in winter!

Never would I put “see Niagara Falls from the puny American side in freezing temperatures” on any bucket list. Even one so insane as to include chocolate covered raisins. Spectacular is an understatement that even a picture can’t outdo a thousand words’ worth. (If the picture looks familiar it is from my last post in addition to that weekend.)

I can run through pages if places that I’ve been (THE house of seven gables -surprisingly not scary) and things I’ve done (rappel from a helicopter – surprisingly scary) that I never planned but just happened along. I guess I’ve been a victim of circumstances.

 

Water, Water Everywhere

Michael 11 Comments

There is something strange going on with water. More than usual strange. What. You don’t think water is strange? How else do explain that water can make the Grand Canyon but can’t wash peanut butter off a knife in the dishwasher? Strange!  But that’s not the kind of water strange (strange water?) I’m talking about. I have a whole different kind of strange going on.

I am a relatively sound sleeper. Years of rotating shifts, working very early hours, and being on call, while still having to function in a world that pays homage to 9-5 for basic business functions like banking and haircuts meant I had to be able to sleep through just about anything to get any kind of rejuvenating rest. Unless it was a child’s cry or a job’s beeper I slept through it. (Yes, beeper. You know the world didn’t always have cell phones. Back in the 70s if you had a job that required you to be reachable you carried a pager.) (Even if you weren’t an international drug smuggler.) It had to be the right pitch for a sound to get through to me while I was sleeping. Otherwise, I had been told, a bomb could go off next to the bed and I’d never hear it.

Well, let’s fast forward to today. The child is grown and she might still cry at night over some things but since she is about 12 miles away I won’t hear it. Usually. And the pages, whether through a beeper or later a cell phone, stopped about 3 months after I retired. (Some people were slow to get the message.) But my ability to sleep through anything is still functioning. Mostly. I can still tune out just about any external stimuli but I’m almost always awakened once during the night to….ah…..you know.

NiagraFallsEvery night I go to sleep with a bottle of water on my night stand. (You knew we’d get back to water eventually. Congratulations on hanging in there with me this far!)  I never remember drinking any of it but every morning when I get up it’s at least half empty. Not only do I never remember drinking any water, I don’t remember ever being awake during the night. (Um, unless I get up to…ah…, moving on.)

Am I a sleep drinker? Do I have such a water craving that I reach over, grab and uncap the bottle, glug away at a few ounces, replace the cap, and return the bottle to its place on the nightstand all without waking? If I didn’t have water next to me would I be sleep walking to the kitchen then sleep pouring a glass full so I could get my water fix during the night?

How does that happen? I have to figure it out. This is something I’m going to have to think on until I come up with a reasonable explanation about how I can drink and sleep at the same time. Unless it’s not me. I still haven’t solved the mystery of the open doors, drawers, and other front pieces. Perhaps with all their nocturnal activities the house fairies have now developed a need to wet their whistles.

I’d like to think I’m not so oblivious to my surroundings that I’m even missing the times that I am the one interacting with them when I quench a nighttime thirst. On the other hand, just in case it is the house fairies and they’re finally going to get around to actually working around here I want to keep them happy. If that means letting them drink my water, who am I to argue?

I certainly don’t want to make waves.

 

One Tough Cookie

Michael 11 Comments

Today is National Cookie Day! Those of you outside the United States please feel free to celebrate also. I am almost certain that there is nothing so subversive about cookies that would undermine any world government.

I became aware of today’s designation when I read an article in the paper last week reporting that Cinnabon selected today to release its new cookie/cinnamon bun hybrid specifically because it is National Cookie Day. Since they have outlets in about 40 other countries they must not think cookies pose a threat of international destabilization either.

Although the thought of a cinnamon bun wrapped inside a cookie (or the other way even) is intriguing (and mouthwatering to boot), it was the day designation that made me go “hmmm” when I read that piece. I could have sworn we already had a cookie day this year. A check of my official “let’s celebrate anything we can to make a buck” calendar indeed revealed December 4 as Nation Cookie Day! (exclamation added) Is there nothing we won’t celebrate? (Tolerance of opposing political views excluded.)

Already this month, if you haven’t been paying attention, you have missed Red Apple Day (Dec. 1), National Fritters Day (12/2), and Roof Over Your Head Day (yesterday). Don’t be caught tomorrow in black moccasins because Tuesday is Brown Shoe Day. Not surprisingly every day has something associated with it. Thirty six occasions (you read that right) are special interest supported days designed primarily to get you to buy something. Apparently just about anything from the aforementioned Fritters to Bicarbonate of Soda. (That comes on December 30.) (You would have thought that would have been the Friday after Thanksgiving.) (Or January 2.) (But Dec. 30? Who’s pigging out on Christmas ham for 5 days?) (I probably overuse parentheses, don’t I?)

So, if you are reading this in Morocco and want a cookie today, feel free to stop at your local Cinnabon and try out their new Frankencookie. I am almost certain you’ll be able to find one debuting there also. But if you’re concerned about inciting a riot by serving bouillabaisse on the 14th of this month because it is an American “holiday” (even though you have a better claim on it that we do), feel free to serve a tuna salad sandwich. We’ll understand. (Probably.)

CookieGuide

Games People Play

Michael 6 Comments

Christmas is coming. You can tell by the way TV commercials have taken their annual bend towards toys and games that most companies don’t spend money on during the year.

RaiseTheFunHasbro has taken a different approach to marketing some of their classic boxed games on their “Raise the Fun” commercial suggesting you add challenges to some of their games. I personally like the idea of Pillow Twister*. But of course that got me thinking, why stop there?

So, as I have said from time to time, since yes, I do have that kind of time, I came up with a few of my own combinations. (You should probably see ** about this next section.)

Remote Control Life: No, this game is not about telecommuting or “working from home.” It’s played like the regular Game of Life but instead of the little plastic cars you use remote control cars to navigate the game board. For bonus points you can raid the kids’ doll collections to replace the traditional stick figure-ish tokens.

Basketball Monopoly: Play progresses like regular monopoly but you can’t buy or build on any property until you successfully toss the deed through an indoor basketball hoop like you mount on the back of your office door at work. (I had thought of Real Money Monopoly but that would limit players to only movie stars and politicians, the only demographic groups that want you to believe they are just regular folk but are actually the only ones with enough money to pull off the game.)

Macaronic Scrabble: Each player constructs words in a different language.

Drone Strike Battleship: Upon completely identifying an opponent’s vessel it is sunk in an actual drone strike. WARNING: this game should be played only outdoors and with all warnings traditionally reserved for lawn darts.

Bubble Wrap Lawn Darts: Like Pillow Twister for the more adventurous set. See warning above.

Clay Pottionary:  Three dimensional Pictionary with Play-Doh.

Candy Candy Land: Candy Land with real goodies. Should not be played within 4 hours of bedtime.

Strip Mahjong: For the older crowd. Players identify a varicose vein that has been stripped each time tiles are removed from the board. (You weren’t expecting that, were you?)

* Hasbro did not pay me or anyone in my family or any close friends in cash or by other financial considerations. I just really like the idea of Pillow Twister. Being around when it was first released I have a special spot for the game. Maybe that was because I was a young teenager when Johnny Carson and Eva Gabor played it on the Tonight Show and, well….

** None of the owners of any these games paid me nothing neither. See if I ever mention them again!

Twister

Image via Global Toy News

 

Butter Me Up

Michael 9 Comments

While going though yesterday’s emails I skimmed past the one “What’s in Movie Theatre Popcorn Butter,” stopped, went back, and clicked. First, DON’T click on that if you like movie theater popcorn butter. And second, this post has nothing to do with movies, theaters, or popcorn. But that does leave butter. (Which apparently is more than you can say about movie theater popcorn butter.) (Ooops.)

Christmas is coming and shortly we’ll start seeing the television commercials they only trot out at holidays. Among these are the commercials for fragrances. You would think the only time anybody bought perfume for their feminine others is at Christmas, Valentine’s Day, and Mother’s Day. Come to think of it, you’d probably be right. Equally right would be the only time anybody buys colognes for dads is at Christmas and Father’s Day. (I’m specifying dads here because other than dads and granddads, the chance of having a male fragrance bought for any male without guilt ridden children with no idea what to get him is basically nonexistent even at these times of year.)

Something that has changed in the last few years is that men’s fragrances now don’t stop at what one splashes on one’s face. Today the fragrance world also includes men’s favorites for room freshening.

Leather, cedar, barbecue, and bacon scented air fresheners will also be heavily advertised in print, on line, and on air next month. These are the smells men like. One fragrancier boasts air fresheners named “Hunting Lodge,” “Distillery,” and “European Sports Car.” A major chain ‘mart’ has pizza scented freshener hanging next to the dangly pine trees. You can buy candles scented as gunpowder and pipe tobacco. Turkey leg and corn dog car scents threaten to replace “new car” and “ocean breeze” for on the road freshairness.

Hot dogs and pizza, even bourbon and tobacco are good smells. Nobody can argue against the ability of the smell of bacon crisping on the stove to stimulate the salivary glands. But do you want to smell that all day. Ok, maybe you do, but I don’t. I don’t want to smell bacon or bourbon, pizza or pipes, or heather or hotdogs everywhere I go. At the same time, even though I enjoy hanging out with my sensitive side, I don’t want lavender and chamomile following me around all day either. So what do I want my living room to be to my nose? Where can in turn for some smelly inspiration?

I spent almost 40 years working in hospitals, nursing homes, and colleges. All have their own unique … um … smells yet they’re all the same. Whether outside a patient room, a dorm room, or the C-Suite conference room, there will be a mix of bad coffee, sweat, fear, and a bodily function gone wrong. No, not there.

I love to be outside. In the summer I don’t really need a house. I’ll be at the pool, on the patio or on the road. In the winter I am very happy walking through snowflakes falling from the sky on a crisp morning. In between those seasons it can be rainy and windy and ugly but it’s also the best times to put the top down and test the limits of lateral suspension cruising down a country road speeding by the new colors of spring or the waning colors of fall. The sights of the seasons may be remarkable but the olfactory memories are of chlorine, charcoal, gasoline, road salt, and abused tires and clutches. Pass.

My personal favorite scents come from the kitchen. Starting with breakfast and sizzling sausage and brewing coffee. Ripe apples cut into super thin slices stirred into yogurt dusted with fresh grated nutmeg at lunch. Dinner with fresh lemon juice and balsamic dancing in the ripping hot pan around a perfectly cooked salmon. Now here are some a-list aromas. But no. They are special. They belong in the kitchen and the dining room. Not hung from the rear view mirror.

ButterSo what manly smell would I want hanging around me all day? Remember that movie theater popcorn butter that started this meandering missive? Yeah, that one. No, not that. But it’s close. It’s butter. Real butter, but the real butter melted in a hot pan when it just hits that perfect spot after the water has sizzled out of it but the browning hasn’t started and it gives off that unexpected nuttiness that lasts just a handful of seconds. That butter.

Take that scent and put it in a candle, hang it from a mirror, or spray it all around. Heck, do all three. Even the manliest of men will stop and sniff the air and know this is the way the world is supposed to smell.

And if that doesn’t work, well there’s always the popcorn.

Timely yet Priceless

Michael 2 Comments

Have you changed your clock back yet? If you’re somewhere where that happens, of course. If you’re not, then you shouldn’t have, so don’t now. I’m of two minds when it comes to these twice yearly time changes. Now the two minds aren’t I like it but I don’t like it. It’s the rule so I’m going to do it and not let my personal feelings intrude on my appropriate completion of this task. Like coming to a complete stop before making a right turn on red, particularly in the face of oncoming traffic. I might not like it but it’s what we’re supposed to do and not liking it out loud isn’t going to change that.

I don’t understand why Arizona doesn’t follow Daylight Savings Time. Hawaii, Guam, Puerto Rico, Samoa, and the US Virgin Islands don’t either but they’re isolated from the rest of the country so if they want to follow what their closest neighbors do, that makes sense. Arizona doesn’t. Oh sure, Arizonans didn’t have to wonder should I change my clock before I go to bed on Saturday or after I wake up on Sunday, but is that a fair exchange for being out of sync with their border state neighbors all summer long and tuning in for the 6:00 news an hour early for six months?

SlowClock

Anyway, my two minds are when to actually make the change. Nobody in their right mind is going to wake up at 2:00 am just to reset various timepieces. I certainly wouldn’t and I’m not necessarily that right in my mind. Besides, I not only wouldn’t but I couldn’t. I have other things to do when I change my clocks and I need to be alert which I certainly am not in the middle of the night. So that leaves the day before or the day after.

Typically I change my clocks before I go to bed. But not right before. If I waited till then I’d forget. So I change them when I think about it or hear or read a reminder. Usually that’s around 5 in the afternoon. That’s what time I changed them 2 days ago. Then for the next 6 hours I wondered every time I looked at a clock what time it really was. Since the computers and phones magically change themselves in the middle of the night I didn’t touch them. That meant that none of the clocks in the room matched the times on my cell phone and tablet which are my ever present recliner companions. And worse than that, the TV listings didn’t match the clock next to the TV. I’ve been changing my own clocks for over 40 years and I go through this dilemma twice a year every year. Next year I think I might wait until I wake up on Sunday to change them and see what happens.

By the way, tomorrow is a noteworthy if not outright special day for The Real Reality Show Blog. On November 7, 2011, I posted the first of now close to 600 posts. Except for a few months when I was in the intensive care unit at the local get well center, I got a post out every Monday and Thursday for six whole years – with an occasional off schedule day tossed in to keep you on your toes. And during all that, this amazing feat has been brought to you for nothing more than your energy to connect and your desire to read.

I want to thank you for your support and continued readership. It is only with that support that this blog is and always will be free. And worth every penny.

 

A Fish Tale

Michael 6 Comments

Yesterday I had a sandwich for lunch. You know, I started a post a couple of weeks ago almost just like that. Well, I like sandwiches. Hmm. I started a post a couple of years ago almost just like that. Now that I think about it, I’ve probably started a post about sandwiches every couple of months. Anyway, the one a couple of years was mostly about sandwiches in general and how generally universal they are. And universally general while we’re at it. The one from a couple of weeks ago was about a specific sandwich, the grilled cheese. I mentioned in that one that I hadn’t had many grilled cheese sandwiches growing up but I never said what I had growing up, sandwichly speaking. I thought of them yesterday while I was sandwiching.

To make a short story long, yesterday I had a sardine sandwich. Go ahead. Sardines often generate that kind of response. It’s ok, we’re used to it. I happen to like sardines. More often than not, I’ll have fresh sardines that I’ve roasted and served with a light pasta. But every now and then I’ll grab a tin of sardines in olive oil or mustard and plunk them on a hearty rye bread. Yum.

But how does one who didn’t grow up in Sardinia grow up to enjoy sardines. Thanks to Napoleon (you know, that Bonaparte fellow, yeah, that one), and my father. Napoleon got things going by having them canned for the first time. My father got me going on them by sharing his sandwiches with me. To clarify, the fish Napoleon had stuffed into glass jars were probably real sardines and more closely related to the fresh variety that I have for dinner. The sardines that my father ate were probably a variety of herring which seems to be the sardine standard (or standard bearer) in North America.

So yesterday, when I had that sardine sandwich, it got me thinking of those sandwiches that I had as a sandwich impressionable youth. Sardines weren’t the only sandwiches I had that weren’t grilled cheese. While others might have been developing their sandwich palettes on grilled cheese, peanut butter and jelly, and ham and cheese, I was growing up on sardines, roast chicken on whole wheat, and fried pepper sandwiches.

I see your confused faces. You understand chicken; you accept that some people eat sardines between slices of bread. But peppers? Aren’t peppers a condiment to add to something else. Not always. On Fridays, a meatless day in our household, my father would fry thick slices of large green and red bell peppers, yellow and green mild banana peppers, and yellow hot banana peppers in olive oil and slap these on any hearty bread (rye, wheat, Italian). Oh, that mix of heat and the bread oozing flavored oil. Italian yum!

I’m sorry but that’s going to have to be it for food posts for a while. Every time I write something like this I get hungry and go eat again. I’ve gain 4 pounds this month and we still have Halloween coming! Now I have to go to the store and get some banana peppers.

 

It’s Beginning To…

Michael 4 Comments

I was out shopping yesterday. Shopping is probably overstating it. I went out to pick up a prescription so it wasn’t like I was planning a spree complete with breakfast out, a break somewhere around mid-day, and tea and scones before wrapping things up and heading home with my packages. My plan was to pour the rest of the morning coffee into a travel mug, shoot down the road to the pharmacy while sucking down the leftover sludge, run past the drive up window to retrieve aforementioned prescription, then head for home where fresh, follow up coffee should be ready for the next cup.

That was the plan. And it would have worked if there hadn’t been a 3 car line in the drive through. Blame it on the rain. So I pulled into one of the every spot open in the lot spots, reinforced myself with an extra glug of caffeinated dregs, and headed inside.

I could have still stayed close to my original plan and been home before the car heater had a chance to actually heat except for the aisle that I had to walk through to get to the prescription counter. The seasonal merchandise. And the season of the hour is …… Christmas.

I can’t help it but I am a Christmas Junk Junky. If it sparkles, I will stare at it. If it blinks and flashes, my eyes will follow it. And if it has a “Try Me!” button, I’ll try it. It doesn’t matter if it’s a multicolor LED light set, a winter scene in motion snow globe, or a plush flamingo singing “Santa Baby.”

SantaBabyI must have bought the last one of those 6 or 7 years ago because I haven’t seen one since. Yes, I’m the one who’s one aisle over pushing all the buttons and laughing like I’ve just seen A Charlie Brown Christmas for the first time. (That reminds me, It’s the Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown will be on ABC this Sunday at 8.) (In case you were wondering.)

I know, for the last 6 years I’ve harped on how stores rush every season, unveiling this Christmas’s hottest toy before last Easter’s leftover remote control hopping bunny can make it to the clearance bin, but all is forgiven (temporarily) while I read the cards’ inside inscriptions or check out the dancing Santa and elves. If Christmas brings out the kid in us, it does doubly so on me. In me?

Then I realized I hadn’t even bought Halloween candy and came to my senses. As long as I was inside the store I picked up a little supply of candy for next week’s treats. I rarely get trick or treaters where I am but just in case I wanted to have something on hand. Besides, the Halloween stuff is such a great size for when you want just a bite. But it will never beat red and green M&M candies in a motorized nutcracker dispenser. Um, yeah. I got one of those, too.

 

Leafed by the Side of the Road

Michael 2 Comments

Yesterday, for the fourth time this month I took the little car out of the garage, dropped the top, donned a pair of polarizing sunglasses (one lens Democrat, the other Republican), grabbed the real camera, and set out in search of autumnal magic, fall leaves. And for the fourth time I was disappointed.

The first time, which happened to be the 1st, I wasn’t surprised that not many trees had shifted from their summery green foliage. On the second Sunday I saw some yellowing and was given hope that the following week would be more colorful. Last week’s attempt fell in the middle of what the TV weather forecasters predicted to be the peak for color. The only red I saw was the car’s paint job. (In fairness I should have expected no colored leaves since I was going on a weather person’s prediction. After all, these were the same people who brought us “partly cloudy.”)

But yesterday’s disappointment hit a little on the hard side. There’s only one Sunday left to October. If the foliage is still as dull then as it had been I fear I may not see another leaf as pretty as on a fall tree, given that my medical history and its corresponding future are as uncertain as weather forecasting. (My long range plan is to live to at least 100. I tell my daughter that every chance I get so she won’t get to thinking that she’ll be able to live into her golden years off her inheritance. Of course only I know it’s really because if I were to drop dead tomorrow she’d only be able to live comfortably until next Thursday, so my only chance of not disappointing her in that regard is to grow so old that she herself will be old enough that she forgets that she has anything coming to her.)

It’s been an exceptionally warm fall so far this year. If you are to believe the Farmer’s Almanac (and why shouldn’t you?) it will stay above average in temperature until the week before Thanksgiving, much too late for fall foliage festivities. I don’t know if it’s the extended warm weather causing the poor color spectacle. Those pesky weather people who two weeks ago said it wouldn’t are now saying it is. But then in the past, they have said disappointing color was because it got too cold too soon. Other years it was too dry. During still others, too much rain was the cause for a dull fall.

Leaves100909

Last good color I shot, October 2009

To be perfectly honest, I haven’t seen a really vibrant fall for some years now. I suppose the easy thing to blame it on would be climate change. That seems to be a good reason for just about anything we aren’t happy with climatically speaking. Which makes perfect sense since in the truest sense of it, any change in the air can be defined as climate change. Unfortunately we actually believe we can do something about it.

The hardest thing for us to accept is recognizing that yes, people do things that aren’t good for the environment but that the environment is going to change anyway. That’s not to say that we shouldn’t be respectful of the environment and do what is good and healthy for it and for us. It is to say though that eventually, the world’s history is going to catch up with it and there are going to be changes that we aren’t responsible for and that we can’t do anything about.

As hard as it is for us and our egos to accept, we aren’t in charge here. The world came before us and had its routine well established before we propelled our first ozones into the ozone. It’s been hot, it’s been cold, it was covered in ice and covered in water. We are here at its invitation and are welcomed to ride the rides while we are here but that’s as far as it is willing to go.

This year’s colors might not be to my liking and that’s going to have to be ok. Colorful or not, the leaves will drop, spring will be back and new ones will bud on the trees. Next fall I’ll again look forward to a day when I can aim my camera at the beauty of the fall foliage.

Until then, like yesterday, I’ll just enjoy the ride.

 

A Cheesy Story

Michael 5 Comments

Yesterday I made a grilled cheese sandwich for lunch. For me that’s a rare treat. I used to do a grilled cheese, with or without tomato soup, almost weekly for years. And years. And even some more. Now I make one a couple of times a year.  I have a complicated relationship with grilled cheese.

Grilled cheese doesn’t hold one of those warm, fuzzy spots youth’s memory. I’m sure my mother made them but I don’t have a real recollection of them. I do remember eating grilled cheese at my elementary school cafeteria. Mostly I remember them being greasy.

I remember in college grilled cheese hitting a new level. There the cafeteria put ham or turkey with it! Who knew? And, I discovered with the help of some aluminum foil and the iron my mother insisted I have in my dorm room that I could prepare a nutritious and alcohol absorbing pre-weekend snack. Even considering the food service’s meaty additions, college level grilled cheese was more utilitarian than culinarian.

I remember making grilled cheese for my daughter. But I can’t say they were the things of lifelong memories. They were mostly things that could be thrown together quickly between her dismissal time and band practice.

Throughout my childhood, my young adulthood, and my adult me’s child’s childhood, grilled cheese was just there. It wasn’t until many years later that grilled became more than a pasteurized processed cheese product between two slices of bread.

In March of 2015, after a 4 month long hospitalization, I was admitted to rehab to learn how to walk again. For the next several weeks I went through physical therapy seven days each week working to the day that I could shuffle my own way out of there. To make a long story short, eventually the day came when my doctor said I could be discharged soon. But first, for lack of a better way to put it, I had to pass several tests. Among them I was to prepare my own hot lunch. I was given two to pick from. I don’t remember the other choice but I picked the grilled cheese sandwich.

GrilledCheeseIt took a while, but eventually I had the required pasteurized processed cheese product, two slices of bread, and a stick of butter on the table in front of me. I assembled them into a reasonable sandwich like fashion and placed it into the medium hot pan on the very hot stove. About 4 minutes later I divided the sandwich into two triangles and passed one to the occupational therapist who had been watching my poor imitation of Jeff Mauro. Three days after that I was propelling my walker to the entrance of the rehab unit where, per hospital policy, I was transferred to a wheelchair to the outside world.

Now every time I make a grilled cheese sandwich I think of those days in that unit, trading half of a sandwich for my freedom. And that’s why I now make grilled cheese only a couple if times a year. Yeah, I guess it’s not that complicated.