Tag Food

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.

 

Four and Twenty

Michael 5 Comments

Although not as famous as the two dozen blackbirds, a single chicken is the more likely thought of filling when it comes to considering what type of savory pie to have for dinner. And while the rest of the northern hemisphere is fascinated with all things pumpkin as soon as the sun passes through the autumnal equinox, my sure Sign of Fall is the return of the pot pie.

Clearly I’m not the only one who thinks this way. I probably was the first to come up with it but like all great ideas, mine was stolen and exploited by others. Yes, you see, even though all other pies may be lumped together celebratorially on March 14, pot pies have their own day on September 23. This year that was the first full day of fall. See?

PotPieOf course, chickens aren’t the only animals to find their way between sheets of pie dough. Beef can easily play the role of filling in a pot pie. Lamb fills a particular pot pie, a Shepherd’s Pie. Chopped pork and pork jelly find their way into another traditional savory pie. Fish pies rarely make it to the American side of the Atlantic while crab and cheese filled pies don’t often make it to England’s shore but both have ardent fans. Although pumpkin fills the sweet side of piedom, another favorite fall squash, the butternut, satisfies the meatless savory pie wisher.

With all these options, tonight’s dinner still is going to be a classic chicken pot pie*. I know, I’m almost a whole week late, but last Saturday the temperature was a summery 84° (29°C). Today’s high isn’t getting out of the 60s (or about 17°C). Not quite down to fall standards, but certainly autumnaler.

*Chicken Pot Pie

Preheat oven to 425°F (200°C) and assemble ingredients.

Filling

1 pound chicken breast, diced or cubed
1 8 oz. package frozen peas
1 large carrot, sliced
1/2 cup celery sliced
1/2 medium onion, diced

In frying pan, cook chicken in olive oil until all pink is gone, remove and set aside. Cook onion celery and carrot until softened. Return chicken to pan, cover with water, bring to a boil then reduce to simmer and allow to continue cooking for 15 minutes. Drain and set aside while preparing sauce.

Sauce

1/3 cup butter
1/2 medium onion, diced
1/3 cup flour
1/2 tsp salt
1/4 tsp pepper
1/4 tap celery seed
12 oz. chicken broth
6oz. half-and-half (or milk)

In a medium saucepan, melt butter then add onion and cook until softened. Stir in flour and cook until flour is completely combined to make a roux. Slowly stir in chicken broth and half-and-half. Add salt, pepper, and celery seed. Simmer over medium-low heat until thick.

Pie

Chicken filling and sauce
2×9 inch prepared pie crusts

Line pie pan with one pie crust. Fill with chicken filling mixture and pour thickened sauce over filling. Cover with second pie crust, seal edges, and make some small slits in the top.

Bake at 425 °F for 30-35 minutes.

Or, pick up prepared pie at local grocery store usually next to the rotisserie chickens. Not everybody is retired and has all day to play in the kitchen.

 

Pump It Up

Michael 3 Comments

PumpkinFor the last few years I’ve publicly marveled at the extent to which each fall pumpkin has invaded our daily lives. Please understand that I am the last person on earth who would turn down an extra slice of pumpkin pie for dessert. I have my very own self with my very own hands fashioned a pumpkin cheese cake. I will wait with rapt anticipation for the once a year release of Reese’s pumpkin shape peanut butter cups. (Yeah, I know they’re not pumpkin flavored and barely look like a pumpkin but it’s my post in my blog and I happen to like peanut butter cups, or didn’t you read “Caution, Falling Pump(kin) Ahead” last year?) But I am not ready for pumpkin soap! That’s right, soap, not soup. Soap!!!

I thought that when we saw pumpkin flavored chewing gum three years ago we saw the most extreme pumpkining we were going to see. (You didn’t miss that one too, did you? Ok, go refresh your memory at “It’s The Not So Great Pumpkin.” We’ll wait for you.) Since then, pumpkin flavoring pretty much has been kept food based. Granted there have been some expectedly unexpected choices. Pumpkin salsa to go with your pumpkin chips, and pumpkin cream cheese to top your pumpkin bread are a couple of the newer fall flavor offerings. The newest pumpkin food that I’ve seen this year is the pumpkin flavored chicken sausage. A double feature at the “What’s Wrong with this Food Film Festival” but not so wrong that I couldn’t be talked into tossing a couple on the grill and see what happens when you cross a spring chicken with a fall gourd.

SoapBut up until this week’s grocery store ad, pumpkin chewing gum was the most extreme pumpkin offering out there. So extreme it was that after that one sighting in 2014 it didn’t even show up in the case load buy outs stores. But this week we might have stepped over the edge. This week we might not be coming back from. This week, somebody, somewhere, for some reason…..is going to actually buy…..pumpkin pie liquid hand soap in a convenient pump dispenser.

Oh, for sure, it’s not the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown.

(Oh, in case you’re wondering, I still haven’t seen any pumpkin tea. Have you?)

Edible Portmanteau

Michael 3 Comments

We were at a buffet brunch yesterday. There was a time in the 90s when you couldn’t escape to a buffet brunch offering on any a Sunday. Then brunches fizzled. The local “family dining” restaurant option continued the buffet offering. It gave them something to do with the salad bar setup that would have otherwise gone untouched. Otherwise, you couldn’t buy an egg anywhere outside a grocery store after 11:00 for all the bacon you brought home last week. Then McDonald’s said breakfast is good all day and soon the Sunday brunch was back. Sort of.

About 6 years ago brunches reappeared on the local high end dining scene as carefully selected menu selections. You could purchase Eggs Benedict and a fruit cup but your $17.99 was going to get you just that. A poached egg and some pre-cut melon. Still, it was another option for an after church repast.

Yesterday we discovered the return of the all you can eat Sunday Brunch. Omelets to order, sausages, baked fish, donuts, and a Caesar salad all on one plate! Permission to stuff your face with as much as you want for as long as you want (up to 2pm) in exchange for one twenty dollar bill. Only in America! (Actually I’m assuming that. I haven’t ever had a weekend, mid-morning buffet in another country but then my international travel is somewhat limited.)

While I was munching away at my bacon topped salmon cake I allowed my mind to do what it does best when dining with my family. Wander. And it was off and running.

The word “brunch” is one of the most recognizable portmanteau, the words breakfast and lunch combined into a new, accepted contraction. We do this all the time with English. Smog. Dumbfound. Modem. Portmanteau itself is a portmanteau, a small case used to carry outwear. (porter = carry, manteau = cape)

At buffet brunches every serving vessel or station is clearly marked with their, sometimes quite disparate, contents. Baked Salmon/Chicken Parmesan. Fresh Fruits/Baked Desserts. Green Beans Almondine/Potatoes au Gratin. And the ever popular Omelet and Carving Station. How much easier it would be to read and recognize these offerings, while minimizing decision making and thus maximizing eating time, if one didn’t have to read and digest all those letters? But why stop at just renaming the stations when we can reinvent the very offering. And so I began devising the list of Edible Portmanteau.

Hash Brown Potatoes and Pancakes become Hashcakes, a light and fluffy griddle cooked cake made of shredded potatoes and onions served with maple syrup and applesauce. Bourbon Glazed Salmon and Chicken Veronique morph into Salmonique, a patty of ground fish and poultry of indeterminate origin covered with a sauce of orange marmalade, green grapes, and Jim Beam. The ever popular omelet and carving station relieves the low man on the cooks totem pole assigned there from running end to end trying to keep omelets from over cooking while slicing slabs of rare roast beef, redirecting his or her energy into scrambled eggs cooked with spinach, mushroom, horse radish and Steak’Ums at the new Carvlet Station.

I don’t know about you but I think I’m on to something here. I have to go make some calls. This could be the start of the newest breakfast offering since the McGriddle. The Sunday Brunch Buffet, or as I like to call it, The SubRay!

Food For Thought

Michael Leave a comment

I have decided that I have to stop reading. When you’re a kid, say under 55, reading can be fun. You learn things, you get to experience people and places you’d never see in person, you expand your world. But when you get to be a little older, you just get confused.

I read four magazine articles last week. It wasn’t that hard. They were all in the same magazine. They were about the 10 foods you have to have in your pantry, 20 foods to always have in your kitchen, the 10 best breakfast foods to keep on hand, and 12 foods nutritionists avoid. You would think that those lists probably have some good food overlap and you wouldn’t have to keep 40 essential foods on hand at all times. Maybe you would end up with a final list of maybe 24 or 25 good foods and none of them should show up on the bad food list. Actually, you wouldn’t be too far off.

The 10 foods to always
keep in your pantry		 The 20 foods to always
have in your kitchen		 10 Best Breakfast Foods
Olive Oil
Beans
Quinoa
Greek Yogurt
Honey
Eggs
Sea Salt
Fresh Herbs
Ground Chicken/Turkey
Chocolate 		 Olive Oil *
Greek Yogurt *
Canned Olives
Honey *
Beans *
Quinoa *
Eggs *
Sea Salt *
Tomato Paste
Bananas
Fresh Herbs *
Chocolate *
Garlic
Frozen Shrimp
Mustard
Flavored Vinegar
Oatmeal
Herbs de Provence
Broth
Ground Chicken/Turkey *		 Oatmeal  **
Greek Yogurt *
Grapefruit
Bananas **
Eggs *
Almond Butter
Berries
Coffee
Cereal
Whole Wheat Bread
* On Top 10 List * On Top 10 List
** On Top 20 List
Twelve foods to avoid
White Bread
Bottled Salad Dressing
Gluten Free Snacks
Instant Oatmeal and Dry Cereal *		 Reduced Fat Peanut Butter
Processed Meats
Fat Free Snack Foods
Yogurt Covered Snacks		 Sports Drinks
Sodas
Flavored Milks and Yogurts
Processed Cheese
* On Breakfast Food List

The Foods to Avoid List did clarify that only instant oatmeal should be avoided due to the high amount of processing and the addition of artificial sweeteners and flavorings, plain oatmeal is ok. Further, only highly processed, sweetened, dry cereals should be avoided and there are many non-sweetened, dry cereals that do not need to be avoided.

So this list has a total of 26 foods to keep in your kitchen and only one of them should be potentially avoided. So why am I confused?

Well, many of the foods on the two 10 and one 20 lists might be something every “otherwise healthy individual” might want to keep on hand, but if you have high blood pressure, one of several heart conditions, renal (kidney) disease, or diabetes, you should be cautious of certain beans, salt, tomato paste (or any tomatoes), bananas, chocolate, shrimp, certain broths, grapefruit, almond butter, and most berries. Which foods go with which disease states? Many overlap. But trust me on this. If you have any of these conditions, check with your doctor, pharmacist, or dietitian before stocking up on kidney beans.

And that concludes this week’s public service announcement, brought to you by the RRSB. Happy Eating!

 

Conserving Matter

Michael Leave a comment

As a scientist, one of my personal commandments was thou shalt not deny the conservation of matter. What we have we always had and always will. Never more. Never less. Always was, is, and will be. It can change, but it won’t disappear. It might look new, but it’s only rearranged. Ice melts into water, water vaporizes into steam, steam condenses into water, water freezes into ice. Always there, always the same, even when different.

Sociologists have their own sort of conservation of matter. Everybody we have is every body we will have. Old people move from the cold of New York to the warmth of Ft. Lauderdale. Immigrants from Caribbean refuges move from south Florida to Chicago to open diners specializing in arroz con gandules. Bright eyed 20 year olds move from Naperville to the seek fame and fortune in Manhattan.

Now, economists want to horn in on the fame afforded to our anything but fortuitous conservation of matter. You’ll recall the landmark post uploaded to this very blog not even some 30 months ago about the ever increasing sizes of American sizes. (If you don’t, you can read it here. If you do but don’t recall it as “landmark,” then you must have a pretty low opinion of yourself reading such drivel. If you do and you do recall it as “landmark,” have I got a bridge to sell you!) To refresh your memory, there is no more small or medium in American. It’s all large, extra large, and full size. This would seem to contradict the natural order of the conservation of matter. Where are the extras going into the larges coming from? In a word, coffee.

Coffee? Yes, coffee. For some time coffee package sizes have been dwindling before our very eyes every time we bring them (our eyes, not the coffee packages) into a grocery store. Years and years and years and years ago, and a few more before that, the standard coffee sizes were one pound cans or bags (for single coffee drinker households), two pound cans (for those teetering on the brink of narcolepsy), and three pound mega-cans (for households with small children). (If you ever had small children you understand that.)  The three pound cans disappears years ago replaced by 36 ounce canisters and the one pound varieties lost 4 ounces to become sleek 12 ounce bags. Now the largest single size container of coffee you can buy is a 30 ounce plastic jug, the small choice is a mere 11 ounces (8.4 to 10 ounces for designer brands and flavors), and medium has disappeared altogether.

So you’re going to say that you don’t drink coffee so your matter is indeed growing every time you order a large sweet tea or test drive an extended cab pickup. No, no, no. You might not drink coffee but if you’re partaking of the classic American coffee break you’re part of the proof of the hypothesis, eating one (or maybe two) out of a pack of 21 prepackaged cookies that used to come in cartons of 24, or one of a new baker’s dozen of donuts that now total a mere ten. Crackers that used to be sold in 12 ounce boxes are now 11, and cream cheese for your bagel is in a 6.5 ounce container when once it was 8.

So there you have it. The modern iteration of that most ancient of all absolutes. Everything indeed is as it once was, merely changed.

 

Nickel and Diming the Penny Pinchers

Michael 7 Comments

I didn’t believe it. There was no reason to doubt her, but when my daughter told me there is a difference in English muffin prices I didn’t believe her.

Specifically, we were talking about Thomas’ English Muffins in your basic grocery six pack, the goto English muffin for both of us. When we feel like splurging. C’mon! Thomas’ are expensive for just a little something extra when you don’t want plain toast for breakfast. I found a store brand that was mighty tasty for less than half what the Thomas brand runs in our neck of the woods. Over two dollars less. “In fact,” I said, “They’re two and a quarter cheaper.” And that started it.

She explained to me that what I found was indeed $2.25 less than the PLAIN Thomas muffin. (In fact, it was $2.27 but why quibble over a couple pennies when so many countries are no longer even minting penny equivalents of their coinage. I’m still not sure why the American monetary police insist on continuing to print $1 bills, the paper equivalent of useless money. But, that’s a different post for a different day.) I tried to beg to differ but you can’t beg in front if your own child so I just differed with a simple “Nuh uh.”

She went on to say she was certain the wheat, raisin, oat bran, super duty extra protein, and seasonal limited editions are all increasingly increasing in suggested retail prices (that for grocery stores is the retail price or why have door buster savings every week?) ranging from $4.26 for plain to $5 and change for double protein. I still resisted based on the logic that all of my Cheapo Brand Muffin were $1.99 across the board from normal to off brand bran. Since it wasn’t greatly affecting my savings or her inheritance we left it as a supermarket curiosity. One of millions down every aisle.

You know I couldn’t leave it there though, could I. No. If I did, we’d have no post today. So the next time I was at the store I wandered down the English muffin aisle, and I didn’t even need English muffins. (Talk about being dedicated to my blog readers.) I find my bargain basement brand right there on the bottom shelf where all off brands belong, each iteration bearing the shelf tag $1.99. Above them, strategically placed at eye level was the Thomas English Muffin lineup. And under the plain muffin was the shelf tag with the not on sale price of $4.26. And next to those, the wheat muffins priced at $4.28, and so on to the Double Oatmeal Protein at $5.38. Who would have thought it?

While I was there, I thought I’d treat myself and pick up a pack of the cheapos. Wheat. If I was going to save I may as well splurge on it. Or whatever is the word for when you intentionally save more. The next morning I was preparing breakfast and thought I deserved more than toast and reached for an English muffin. Even though I still had a couple of plain muffins I opted for wheat and cracked open the new package. Take that Thomas muffin people! Try and gouge me just because I want wheat. I don’t think so!

As I was splitting it I had that feeling that something wasn’t right. It didn’t feel right. Not the feeling. The muffin. It seemed to not fit my hand right. It felt … small. I shrugged it off and continued splitting. I dropped the halves into the toaster and turned to tend to—- Wait! The toaster! Those are really low in the toaster. What’s wrong with the toaster? Yes, you got it. There was nothing wrong with the toaster. It was that muffin. That blasted, small muffin.

I took out another wheat muffin and one of my remaining plain guys.

Muffins

Side by side there was no mistaking it. The wheat muffin was smaller. And judging by how much, I’d say more than two cents worth smaller.

I feel so violated.

 

The Dinner That Didn’t

Michael 6 Comments

Before I start today’s post I want to apologize to some of you. Somehow my site’s notification commands got changed and I haven’t been notified of new followers or comments since sometime in June. (OK, I probably did it, but I didn’t know I did it or even how I did it. Hmm. Maybe I didn’t do it. Anyway…) Unless I just happened to run across something you left for me I may not have acknowledged you. I’m sorry. It’s fixed now and if I haven’t caught up with you yet, I will soon.

————

The Dinner That Didn’t

Yesterday was a dialysis day for me. But today is not a dialysis post. Today is a dinner post.

My dialysis time is right in the middle of the day. I leave home around 10:15 in the morning, about 2 hours after breakfast, and I get home at about 3 in the afternoon, at least 2 hours after when lunch should have been. Usually when I get home I grab a snack to settle the hunger pangs that had been roiling for 2 to 3 hours. That way I can still have dinner around 6ish and maybe a light snack sometime later so I don’t wake up famished. The only thing that makes this all a little tenuous is that on dialysis days I’m pretty tired (exhausted), and cooking is often not (never) something I want to take on. What I usually do on the four days of the week that I don’t have dialysis is cook enough for a small army, or at least two meals. When I get home from my treatments I can then rely on the “heat some leftovers method” for that evening’s meal. It usually works like a charm. And sometimes not.

Yesterday I was running a little late. I rushed out the door closer to 10:25 than 10:15. Actually, I was rushing out the door closer to 10:30 than 10:25. Things happen. But I still had 15 minutes to make a 20 minute drive. I can do that. I was merrily on my way with my bag of comforts (book, tablet, crossword puzzles, soft warm woolen blankie (ahhhh) (what can I say, I get cold there)) on the seat next to me when I realized I had forgotten not only my glasses (no crossword puzzles for me) but also my wallet. (Darn! Danger, danger! Reduce speed!!!.)

A while later I was sitting in my dialysis chair, not working a puzzle, controlling my heart rate, and thinking about what I was going to have for dinner. I took the proverbial mental inventory of the fridge and decided on…hmm, nothing. As my mind’s eye scanned the shelves I saw eggs, breakfast sausage, deli meat, several cheeses, some homemade relishes (I should really post the watermelon rind relish recipe I just did – fabulous on fish), condiments, milk, water, a couple of juices, white wine, a large bowl of cut fresh fruit, and a jar of leftover pancake batter. All perfectly yummy in their own right but nothing dinner-worthy. Oh there was plenty in the freezer but it all required real cooking. No Stouffer frozen entrees up there. (Darn.)

EmptyFridgeI thought about this quandary. I had plenty of time to think not being able to see well enough to read or write. That’s when I realized that I had a golden opportunity right there in front of me. Stop on the way home and treat myself! Yes! That’s when I remembered why I had such an empty refrigerator.

The day before yesterday I had a doctor appointment. On my way home I was going to treat myself to lunch at a local diner close to me. The only problem was that this hole in the wall greasy spoon (when I decide to treat myself, I go all out), doesn’t accept cards and I was cashless. No problem that a quick stop at the drive through ATM couldn’t fix. Except for the storm raging and the chain across the driveway that held the sign, “CLOSED. NO POWER.” (Darn.) (Again.) (Or the first time.) (Do you think I overuse parentheses?) By then I was so close to home and so hungry I just went home and ate. My last leftover meal. *sigh*

No problem, I chuckled to my remembering self. That was yesterday (actually 2 days ago), this is today (actually yesterday). The power’s back on. And I sat back in my chair and tried to relax without the help of my glasses. And I relaxed like that all the way through the rest of the afternoon and right on up until I pulled onto the greasy spoon’s parking lot and then I remembered some more. Still no cash. No wallet. No ATM card. No treat. *bigger sigh*

So yesterday for dinner I had pancakes with sausage and fresh fruit. I thought about topping it with watermelon rind relish but I think I’ll turn that and some cod I have in the freezer into fish tacos for dinner today.

Unless I go out and treat myself instead.

 

The Melted Pot

Michael 4 Comments

Yesterday I made French toast for breakfast and I asked myself once again that question I ask every time I make it: if you want French toast in France do you just ask for toast? Of course the answer is no. French toast in France is called pain perdu which actually means lost bread and I assume it makes no more sense to Paris diners than it does to me. And it would indeed make no sense to breakfasters there since it’s likely to be served as dessert not as breakfast. Where did we Americans go wrong?

To complicate my breakfast matters I actually had Canadian bacon (not really bacon) and Florida orange juice (all Florida, all the time) with my French toast. (I really should refrain from tart juices with such sweet breakfasts and not challenge my taste buds so dramatically in the morning.)

In America we often herald the origin of a dish in its name because we came from so many different places. Even food classically American is prefaced with its originating locale except in said locale. Although it may be a Philly cheesesteak anywhere else, in southeast Pennsylvania it’s just a cheesesteak. Nashville hot chicken is on Tennessean menus just hot chicken, and Wisconsin brick cheese can be ordered just as brick cheese in Milwaukee. But it doesn’t always hold true as even in Buffalo if you want their classic version of the buttery hot wing you probably need to specify Buffalo wings.

Some of the modifiers make sense. When someone on American soil decided to make an eggy potato salad, the vinegary version had to be differentiated so calling it German potato salad made clear it was of the sort a Bavarian immigrant brought over the Atlantic. And that’s surely also why Irish stew kept its identifier to distinguish it from other stews. Although that doesn’t explain why Swedish meatballs kept their moniker but Italian meatballs are now just meatballs nor why we still call Hungarian goulash Hungarian without knowing any other goulashes. It’s no wonder we have such schizophrenic menu choices.

So those of you elsewhere and those who have traveled elsewhere, what are these and other Somewhere Somethings called in their home-wheres?

 

I Got Nothing

Michael 7 Comments

When I sat down to write this post I realized that I really didn’t have an idea for this post. Not that I had one and forgot which I’ve done and have written about. Not that I had a bad idea for a post which I’ve probably had more times than not but wrote about anyway. Not that I had an idea but had written about several times already and even I knew that one more time wasn’t going to be a good idea. No, when I say I really didn’t have an idea, I really didn’t have an idea.

It’s been a decent enough week. I’ve felt well so I used some of that energy and did some shopping. Most of the time a good shopping trip will end up with fodder for a good blog post and sometimes just the act of shopping ends up blogworthy (which I’ve also already written about fairly recently). This week’s shopping was pretty much that. I went shopping. Bought a couple of shirts, some kitchen stuff, a canister of that newfangled spray on sun-screen. But it was all fairly normal. No weird sales signs, no clueless sales clerks, no inappropriately dressed fellow customers. Well, there was that one lady in the bathing suit with a cover-up masquerading as clothes. How could I tell there was a bathing suit under what outwardly appeared to be a cover-up? Maybe the dripping water that trailed her like an ill-trained puppy. But since I’ve done more than a couple of posts on fashion rules for the real world I couldn’t see putting yet another together at the expense of the nonfashionista and her screaming need for attention.

Since the last post I’ve spent a lot of time at the pool. I’ve switched from morning walk to morning swim at least on non-dialysis days for my exercise. In fact, it’s worked out quite well for me. Last summer, actually last summer, last fall, last spring, the summer before last, and so on and so one and etc. I’ve spent most of my exercise energy on walking. Also covered in several posts. But since I’ve started on dialysis I’ve been slacking on the sidewalk shuffle. If you’ve never had dialysis I’ll add in my prayers tonight that you never have to have dialysis for one of the things they don’t tell you when they stress that you’ll only spend 7% of your week on the machine is that you spend about 40% of your week recovering from that time. Walking just a mile or two the morning after dialysis isn’t just out of the question, it’s not even a question. Period. But swimming seems to be a different animal. I’ll swim a lap or two then climb out of the pool and rest in a comfy lounge chair under the morning sun. After a few minutes rest (ok, after about 20 minutes rest), it’s back in for some water calisthenics. More rest, more laps. More rest, some wading. I get exercise and a killer tan without having to stop for a rest when I’m a quarter mile from the nearest park bench. But hardly blogworthy.

And we’ve had Father’s Day. It’s the rare holiday that goes by without a mention of it by me. I’ve even invented my own holidays just to get a post idea. Maybe not invented but certainly given more weight to National Name Tag Day than even its proponents did. But everybody knows about Father’s Day. Not much I could add to it. I could talk about my gifts but they wouldn’t hold your interest as much as mine. I could talk about dinner and the fabulous glaze we came up with for the grilled salmon but then when the cook book comes would you still buy it? Or I could talk about how we narrowly escaped the severe weather than muscled its way into the festivities just as the grill was cooling. But how many weather posts can one blog present?

No, I just have to own up to up. I got nothing. So if you were expecting to find something here to pique your interest, go to the search page and plug in your desired topic. Chances are you’ll get something back. Till then, I’ll try to work on something more substantial for Thursday.

Have a great week!