Category House and Home

Get the Picture?

Michael Leave a comment

Last week I was digging under the bed to see what I could pull out of there. I try to clean out the “underbed storage” about every ten or fifteen years. I found a duffel bag that I was looking for just a few months ago. There were coin wrappers and bill straps; unfortunately they were all empty. I saw a shoe box with no shoes in it. And there was a camera bag. Not the big bag that had the big camera, lenses, flash and such. That was in the office. Not the little case that held the palm size digital camera that goes on vacation if I ever go on vacation again. This was a forgotten camera bag with a roll of film (actually a cartridge of film), a strange sized battery, and a claim check from an airline that has since gone out of business. No camera.

I don’t remember the last time I used a film camera. I do remember it was a 35mm camera and not one that used the 110 cartridge. I remember a camera that used that cartridge but I remember it from something like thirty or forty years ago. (I know I cleaned out under the bed since then. I know that because I’ve moved a few times since then.)

I might not remember that camera – and it’s a good thing the camera wasn‘t there because nobody probably still processes those little film cartridges – but I do remember that I used to take quite a few pictures and actually displayed them. I had pictures on walls, on end tables, in bookcases, on desks, even stuck to the front of the refrigerator in magnetic picture frames. Still do. I’ve slowed down in picture taking. Lots of people today take many more pictures than I ever did. But how many of those pictures ever end up as photographs.

So many pictures get taken and are posted somewhere electronically. And there’s nothing wrong with that. But I’ve always thought of a picture as an opportunity to remember someone or something. At work I had pictures on my desk, file cabinets, and walls. They were of my daughter, of She and me, of people from work doing fun things. They were snapshots of things to make me smile usually when I most needed a smile. I remember only three other managers in my building who had personal pictures somewhere in their offices.

Print a picture, pop a stick or chip in a printer at a drugstore, or download a few shots to a digital frame. Don’t make all of your future memories “images.” Take a photo every now and then.

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

A Close Shave

Michael Leave a comment

I had another thought about shaving while shaving. Actually I guess a thought, not necessarily another thought. I don’t often think about shaving. I just do it though sometimes not as often as I should. And that’s ok since most of the time hair stops growing all by itself. In fact, we even talked about that once in “A Hair Raising Thought.” By that was about cutting hair. This is about shaving and the difference is about as dramatic as the difference between shaving with a single blade or with six of them.

To be dramatic about it, what difference does it make anyway? I’m old enough to remember when razors came with just one sharp edge unless you counted the “double edge” safety razor blades. Those were the ones your grandfathers used when they switched from getting a shave with a straight razor to doing it themselves with that nifty little gadget that opened like a clam shell and hold the blade “safely” in place. The kind you see a certain pawn broker advertise on television if you stay up late enough and watch reruns of shows that were popular when safety razors were. But where was I? Oh right, old enough to remember when.

Do you remember when razors had just one blade? Whether in the venerable safety razor, the gadgety injection razor, or the brightly colored disposable razor, there was one blade to drag across your face, leg, or other hairy body part to transform it into a smooth, hairless body part. It worked just fine. Then someone decided if one is good, two must be better. TV ads were suddenly full of the new trend, the double blade disposable razor. The first blade shaves your beard close and the second shaves it even closer. Closer than close? Holy cow! That’s close! They even had animations of the first blade cleaning slicing off the hair and pulling it ever so carefully above the skin just in time for the second blade to swipe its way through. Yeah right.

The hairy public sought out this newest grooming marvel in droves. Shaver manufacturers hit gold. Then someone got the idea, if two are better, three must be better than better. To make a long story short, today you can wander into the personal grooming section of your local supermarket and pick up a razor with as many as six blades all bending, twisting, turning, and otherwise maneuvering their way around your face, leg, and other hairy body parts with or without lubricant, softeners, and/or moisturizer strips. And all for a whole lot of money, with or without coupons.

Oddly enough you can still buy double edge safety razor blades and injector blades. I have no idea if you can still buy the razors to go with them but if you can you can get a deal since these are usually less than a dollar a blade while the new-fangled multi-blade systems run as much as $6.00 per razor. Something you can’t get readily any more is a barbered straight razor shave. The shave and a haircut is a thing of the past, and where it still exists its way more than just two bits. But as indulgences go, it’s worth way more.

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

The Salad Days of Summer

Michael Leave a comment

Even worse than the dog days of summer are the summer salad days. Those are the days when even a confirmed carnivore welcomes a chilled plate of veggies in place of steak and ‘tators.

I hit the salad days about a week ago. It was a day that started out like no day should ever start with me being hauled away in the back of an ambulance after ripping a gash in my leg on a hunk of cardboard. You know how much a paper cut hurts. Think of cardboard as a bunch of paper all stacked up just waiting to slice through an unsuspecting appendage. It wasn’t so terrible. A couple of hours in the emergency room, a few lab tests, a pair of stitches and one large tetanus shot and home in time for lunch.

But honesty, after a morning like that, that started before I even had breakfast, even though I was hungry as a bear, the last thing I wanted to do was eat. I was quite content sitting with my leg elevated and the noon newscast detailing the horrors other metro residents had been facing that morning. Fortunately my daughter recognized the grumbling noise coming from the living room not coming from me because I couldn’t get comfortable but coming from me because my stomach was quite sure my mouth had been stitched shut.  “How about a salad?”

It seemed innocent enough. Some lettuce, perhaps a tomato, the sort of thing that one burns more calories eating than one expends on chewing. Boy was I wrong. I got an old fashioned “what’s in the fridge that can look a little like a chef’s salad” salad. Green and red peppers, red onions, mushrooms, ham, turkey, provolone, cheddar, and carrots on a bed of butter lettuce with ranch dressing. Fabulous! Filling, tasty, a variety of textures, and still light when compared to my usual lunch of pepperoni and peanut butter on wheat toast.

That started a run of salads from simple leftover rotisserie chicken salad on a bed of lettuce to a full out steak salad. We make ours with hearty greens, bell peppers, sweet onions, radishes, hard boiled eggs, whatever leftover steak might be in the fridge warmed up, and French fries (oven baked if you want the healthy version). That with some fresh melon for dessert and you really can forget about a classic steak and baked potato. And be satisfied.

But the salad days won’t last long. It’s only a matter of time before I’ll want an old fashioned hot dog off the grill smothered with chopped onions and baked beans.  Maybe two of them.  Make that three.

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

That’s a Bargain!

Michael Leave a comment

There’s something very satisfying about finding a great buy. I’ve run into quite a few lately. No, not at the used car dealer, not on a call from a broker, not even at the dollar store – and you know how much I love the dollar store. The bargains I’ve been running across have been at the meat counter.

Really, the meat counter. Everything we’ve heard this summer says meat is the last place where there should be bargains. Droughty conditions are still responsible for less than the traditionally fatted calf not to mention the somewhat older steaks on the hooves. Bird flu is dropping chickens like clay pigeons. Pigs seem to be making a comeback but bacon prices are still playing the yo-yo game. Meat just isn’t on top of the specials lists.

One of the effects of not going to work every day is having lots of time on one’s hands. And I still have to get my exercise in. At this stage of my recovery walking is the best exercise I can take on. But with temperatures in the 80s and 90s a casual walk around the neighborhood could mean a sudden case of heat stroke, or worse. The answer is daily walks around the local mega-mart.  A trip along the perimeter is quite a healthy distance and I get to pass produce, bakery, deli, fish, meat, dairy, and the as-seen-on-TV section. With the exception of the tele-specials it’s almost like shopping at a local farmers market. I can buy just the veggies and salad fixings I’ll be using that day, I can get fresh rolls every morning, the fish monger is laying out his catches of the day just as I’m passing buy, and at the meat market they are marking down all the stuff left from the day before. I’m saving 30 to 40% from the regular price because they want it out of their refrigerators and into someone else’s. Mine will do.

If you figure the regular weekly shoppers are picking up a few days’ worth of meals on one trip, they are ending up with the same day old product at home in a couple of days. I’m buying what I’m going to be cooking in a few hours. And saving a bundle doing it.

Yeah, I know it’s a little over the top for just a couple of dollars but it gives me something to do before the noon news comes on. You have to make a little fun for yourself somehow. What better way than a good hunk of meat, fresh veggies, and a gadget that lets you make a bowel out of several strips of bacon. That’s a bargain.

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

Have I Got a Deal for You

Michael 1 Comment

Last weekend my daughter was lamenting the fact that the stores were starting to advertise fall fashions. Fortunately, she reported, they were also beginning summer clearances so it wasn’t all that terrible that the season was being rushed along a bit.

It’s always been that way. Valentine specials show up right after New Year’s; Easter Sales go on sale in February; Memorial Day Specials pop up in early April; Fourth of July Sales are here and gone by Flag Day; Labor Day Back to School Sales get started at the end of July; Halloween candy is displayed around the start of the school year; Black Friday opens around Halloween; Christmas Sales deck the shelves on Columbus Day; and the End of the Year Clearance flyers hit the mailboxes a week before Thanksgiving.  Next year will probably start a week earlier.

It’s not necessarily a bad thing. It really does become a plus when you can buy this season’s fashions at bargain basement prices while still in the season. But then does that mean the demise of bargain basements?

I suppose that bargain basements are already dead. And that’s a shame. They used to be THE place to shop for the folks who couldn’t afford Saks, Lord and Taylor, or Tiffany. And back a generation or two that was almost everybody. The bargain basements were where back to school meant it didn’t have to be hand-me-downs, where grills and patio furniture and outdoor life came to life for middle class America, where Christmas got to overflow from each child’s stocking.  They might have all been the previous year’s fashion but who cared. Jeans were jeans, chairs were chairs, and toys were toys. And all of them hidden away in the department stores’ lowest levels. Even when the big retailers moved to the suburban shopping centers there still was a certain square footage devoted to the bargain basement.

Now the bargains are relegated to a few clearance racks pushed to the back of a department, behind next season’s meticulous displays. They are a few handfuls of what didn’t sell, the few pieces management is willing to part with this season rather than storing in back rooms to be brought out next year or auctioned off to remainder stores.

Those days of the bargain basements were the days when real savings were passed to the public. Today if you want a real savings you have to know where your closest time machine dealer is. Of course, if he’s not running any good specials when you get there, ask for a test drive and go back one holiday. You’ll find your deal there. Or is that then?

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

Forget About It

Michael Leave a comment

I cleaned out my desk last week. Not the one at work. That one was cleaned out last summer on my last day. Not the one in my home office. That one was cleaned out of anything of value years ago and the whole room took on more of a storage quality. Well, that sounds too neat. It sort of became a junk drawer with expandable walls. No, the one I cleaned out was the one I use almost every day. It’s the spot where bills are paid, receipts are kept, coupons are sorted, and important papers are stored. After almost thirty years I figured it was time to do some thinning.

Geez, you should have seen the stuff I dug out of those drawers. If they could only talk maybe they’d tell me what I was doing with some of that. There was once a time when I spoke at a lot of conferences and that time reached back to before we put our slide shows on a flash drive and used real slides. For some reason I decided to keep those slides but couldn’t imagine what that reason was. Out they went. Over the years the bank I deal with has been bought, sold, and/or changed names. Several times. Lots of several times. And each time they felt it necessary to change account numbers and thus change checks. And I found all the old checks. Not cancelled ones to prove when I paid for the coffee grinder so I could take advantage of the 90 day warranty. These were the unused leftover checks the bank said not to use after some specific date usually 2 or 3 days before the letter from them was received. I couldn’t recall any good reason why I would have kept checks just as useless as if there was no money in the bank. To the shredder they went. I also uncovered eight (yes, 8) pages of return address labels, 200 labels per sheet, each page with 4 to 6 labels used and the other 190-some waiting patiently to be stuck on an envelope. That was over 1500 return labels. Apparently I paid my monthly bills, did not remember that I had labels somewhere, and printed another page. Several pages found themselves on the inside of the recycle bin.

But the point of today’s post isn’t pre-hoarding proclivities I may be demonstrating. It’s the tale of a specific piece of paper, a single page of a simple form to reclaim lost money. In our state, any sort of property held by an institution in a person’s name is turned over to the state treasury if said person has forgotten about said property. Before it becomes part of the general fund and disappears forever into the current year’s pool for graft, the state conducts a search for the rightful owner. Quite some few years ago I was the rightful owner of an account forgotten at a credit union. Amazingly, years’ worth of fees had not depleted the balance to nothing and there was still money to be reclaimed.

Reclaiming it was easy. All one had to do was prove one was the one being sought and one owned that which was the reason for the seeking. Easy enough, a state issued ID such as a driver’s license is sufficient to prove who I was, or am.  And a copy of a statement from the credit union showing my name and address was sufficient to prove ownership. Hmm, now I began to remember why I had forgotten about this form those many years ago. I actually had a statement from the credit union even though it has been many, many years since I had dealt with them. But that statement had an address three addresses old. According to the nice lady who answered the phone at the state treasury it is a simple process to prove I am that person who lived at the address three addresses ago. Just provide copies of the change of address requests for each change from that address to the one on my current ID.

So in order to get my own money back from the state I have to prove that I once held an account that I completely forgot about when I was living somewhere else in a different century.  I think I just might have remembered why I never finished that form.

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

It’s Taco Thursday!

Michael 1 Comment

Yes, I am quite aware that the entire rest of the world recognizes Taco Tuesday. But I post only on Monday and Thursday and Taco Monday sounds stupid even though I’m just as apt to eat a taco on a Monday as a Thursday or any other day of the week.

In fact, that’s the point of today’s post. And you thought this was going to be pointless like all the others. The point is I’m worrying myself a bit. I seem to have fallen into a taco trough. (That’s sort of like a taco rut but more alliterative.)  I really am apt to have a taco any day of the week and any time of any day. And not just tacos. Toss into that mix burritos, fajitas, and enchiladas, just about anything with meat and cheese in a tortilla and you have my diet from the past couple of weeks.

Lately I’ve had a lot of appointments and trying to do as much as I can around the house. For me that means I’m working sometimes up to two, maybe three hours a day. (I tire easily.) Standing in front of a stove isn’t on the list. Nor is on the list standing in front of the counter prepping something to go into the oven. A sandwich is quite doable, but who wants a steady diet of sandwiches? Thus, the taco. As quick as the sandwich but certainly more fun. And just as versatile.

Over the past week I’ve had a couple of breakfast burritos with scrambled eggs, sausage, peppers and onions, and tomatoes in a flour tortilla. I had a quick lunch of ham and cheese quesadilla, a fajita made from thinly sliced flank steak that I originally was going to use in a cheesesteak, grilled peppers and onions, some provolone cheese, and some tomato slices. I made a dinner of a soft corn tortilla with leftover pot roast and caramelized onions, cheddar cheese, Boston lettuce, and a splash of hot sauce. I even had a more traditional taco dinner with seasoned ground beef, jack cheese, lettuce, red onions, green peppers, and black olives.

All of that and there’s not a drop of Hispanic blood in me unless I got some during a transfusion. Still, the adaptable wraps of the southwest have been far outpacing my ingrained Italian cooking. This weekend I may have to make lasagna to re-center my chakra. Or maybe I’ll do layers of spiced chicken, cheese, and flour tortillas in an enchilada casserole instead. That’s pretty lasagna-like, don’t you think?

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

Can You Keep a Secret?

Michael 1 Comment

There is a weekly feature in one of our city’s newspapers where a local celebrity is interviewed in a basic high school journalism class format. You know – what’s your favorite movie, which is your favorite local sports team, what would you find in your glove compartment, what song always gets you on the dance floor. And even though the questions are pretty kitschy, it can make for some interesting reading on a light news day. Of course nobody ever answers all of the questions. Some almost famous people don’t want you to know that their first concert was Frank Zappa and the Mothers of Invention, so the “official” answer might be “Oh, I don’t go to concerts.” And many of them also don’t go to the movies, watch TV, dance when or when not anybody is watching, own glove compartments, have a favorite food, or a celebrity crush. But one thing every one of them has is a secret vice.

Now that’s odd. If you were to stop the average Jo and/or JoAnn on the street you’d find that most of us have a TV, go to movies, read books, and even sing in the shower. But asking for a secret vice is like asking if they know any good government secrets. Nobody would dare reveal his or her secret vice. Let me ask you, can you keep a secret? So can I!

That’s the difference between the famous and the ordinary. In a bid to appear just as ordinary, the famous fall over themselves trying to do something that the ordinary would never do. (I know, that’s a weird sentence but I tried writing it 4 or 5 different ways and believe it or not, that’s the best sounding one of the bunch.) See, the famous people want to appear to be just one of the average Joes, or JoAnns. They share their secrets with everybody and then when the tabloids make a big deal out of it they get all huffy.

So to make the famous people feel like one of us non-famous folks I’m going to do something I’d never ordinarily do. I’m going to reveal my secret vice. This will make any famous people reading this feel much better about connecting with ordinary people. My secret vice is…shhhh, keep it to yourself now…my secret vice is rippled potato chips with French onion dip. Always eaten alone. Never shared. One chip after another each dipped in that cool, savory, bitey flavored cream cheese based condiment until every last one out of the one pound bag is gone.

Wow! I feel so much better now. Almost famous even.

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

T(-Shirt) is for Thinking

Michael 2 Comments

I’m all for self-expression. I’ve expressed my approval of it already in several posts. Over the years we’ve written about expressing one-self in signs on our the walls (Walls O’ Wisdom, March 19, 2012) on license plates (UNDTSAY, April 2, 2012) and even on license plate frames (Mobile Philosophy, June 30, 2014). But the “selfest” of self-expression has to be the T-shirt. And by goodness there are some expressive ones out there!

I started wondering about this a couple of weeks ago. I was at the supermarket and was reminded of how nobody wears a plain collared shirt any more. Everything has something on it. Around here, the sports-minded person rarely goes out in public without declaring his or her devotion to some team or another. (See ‘Tis the Season – Summer 2014 Edition, July 28, 2014.) Coming on strong, though, are the shirts that spout his or her thoughts beyond championship seasons.

It always seems to be around the meat counter that I am struck by people’s clothing. This time it was a guy wearing a T-shirt that read “Lie Like You Mean It.” I found myself wondering if his wife gave it to him for his birthday. Two aisles over, another fellow sported “Drive It Like You Stole It.” Two shirts, two commandments. We were on a roll!

It wasn’t just the men – or maybe boys. A woman got me noticing her T-Shirt inscribed with the self-assured (self-)expression “I’m A Keeper.” Another had a more practical opinion to share. Her shirt read “If I Had Ruby Slippers I Wouldn’t Pick Kansas.” And my favorite was a lady mature enough to be in her retirement years seen at the deli counter, “Out To Lunch – Permanently!”

My walls are filled with boards and posters of seemingly clever sayings (Behind every great man is an enormous amount of caffeine); I actually have a custom license plate frame appropriate to an old geezer that I someday want to grow up to be (Aged to Perfection). I don’t have a vanity plate on the car but I have thought of it. But I can honestly say I’ve a veritable dearth of philosophical clothing.  The closest I come to is an old T-shirt proclaiming “I Fought the Lawn and the Lawn Won.” Actually, if you ever saw my lawn you’d realize that isn’t philosophical.  That’s the honest to gosh truth!

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

Support Your Local Garden

Michael Leave a comment

Locavores are not people who eat their neighbors. But they are people who eat their neighbors’ meat and produce. It’s not a new idea, it’s not a new term, it’s not a new fad. It’s as old as backyard gardens and farmers’ markets and the term was first used in 2005. It reached a milestone in 2013 when AqSuared released an iPhone app just in case you didn’t know what was in season around your home.

If you’re a food junkie and you spend some time watching TV or surfing the net in search of articles and shows built with foodies in mind, catch phrases are growing faster than zucchini during a hot summer. Locavore and Farm to Table are two of the hottest right now.  (Farm to Table is another not new idea going back to 2003 as a recognized “movement.”) Why are they so hot? Probably because it’s hot right now.

Everything tastes better in the summer. It should. That’s the peak growing and harvesting season for almost everything we eat that comes from the earth. It’s when farmer’s markets pop up in parking lots every week, when local coops are wholesaling produce to the local supermarkets and purveyors, and when a salad bar at the neighborhood restaurant isn’t such a bad thing after all. It makes you glad that somebody in the early 2000s was thinking we should eat local.

Wait a minute! In the early 2000s? How about in the early 1900s, 1800, 1700s even. I can’t speak personally of any of those but I can reach back to mid-twentieth century when my father and every other father in our little neighborhood turned most of their backyards into vegetable gardens. The dads would come home from work some spring day and plan the “patch.” That weekend, shovels, rakes, and hoes turned and prepared soil for seeds and seedlings. Daily watering and weeding was added to kids’ lists of chores from then through the summer months. Moms started planning for summer sides for those veggies put to immediate use and for canning, freezing, and otherwise preserving those grown in quantity for use during the fall and winter months.

Locavores claim “locally produced” means within 100 miles. Those old gardeners did it within 100 feet! Oh there is nothing like eating a tomato or an ear of corn that you picked up at a local farmers’ market from a real local farmer. But even they pale to the ones that grow outside your back door. Now that’s local!

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

To see a previous post on Farmers’ Markets, click here.