When Wednesday hits here, everything feels faster. Even though it’s only a once-every-five-weeks occurrence, knowing that I have to write both this and this before the work day starts leaves me spinning, wondering how I’ve been spending my time and how I’ve (mis)managed it. (Also, if you haven’t checked out my Wednesday weekly, please do. You might like it. Or not. But if you like this…well, just try it…please and thank you.)
One thing I’m doing is writing this from the couch and not from the airport. I was supposed to be traveling for work today but things got re-scheduled so now instead of being away today through Friday, I’m happily home—meaning that I get to enjoy the Friday holiday in full (Yes! We get VeteransDay off!) and prepare for a fun weekend with my sis and niece in town from MI to visit my other MI niece and to enjoy some family fun. It’s fixin’ to be a doozy.
On Sunday we fell back (or more accurately the clocks did—we stayed upright, did you?), and that dastardly “extra” hour has given me the opportunity to focus extra hard on time (mis)management and enjoyment of said time. Other than the time change shining a spotlight on my fixation with time, I do well when we fall back, despite what it means (dark days, seasonal affective disorder, self-diagnosed, etc.). I claim the hour at whim for whatever purpose suits me. Like this year the first thing it involved was sleeping late. Then I used another hour being leisurely with my morning coffee. I used another hour still being outside, enjoying a beer out back, watching football. And then I used the extra hour for the 4th time when I decided to smoke an old fashioned for good measure and “because it’s still warm out and it’s still early.” 🤣🤣🤣 One extra hour, enjoyed x 4, which was how Sunday went for me. Not *that* bad at all. Until the early sunset, of course. (And I was asleep by 9 PM, I think.)
Anyhow, as is customary with the Wednesday edition of TPP, let’s review what’s been going on with me.
On the TV screen…
Oh my. Not a lot of TV viewing to be proud of here, but, well, as “they”say, it is what it is. In the five weeks since I last wrote on a Wednesday, I don’t think I’ve watched anything new, and certainly haven’t watched anything “good.” I know I watched some movies when I was flying to and from Mexico but I honestly cannot remember what they were. 🤦🏼♀️ See what happens when I forget to take notes? So it’s been more of The Voice, The Real Housewives (of NY and SLC), Golden Bachelor, and Bachelor in Paradise. I am looking forwarded to getting back to watching some better-quality scripted TV for sure. I enjoy The Voice because I love music and I love realizing how many talented people there are in the world…but it also depresses me a little to think of all the talented people who toil in anonymity, just because they can’t catch a break. That kind of bums me out. The Housewives entertain me, in all their ridiculousness…and I did really like the overhaul of the NYC cast. Golden Bachelor isn’t what I’d call good TV, but kudos to all the contestants for putting it out there to find love late in life. (And what a cliffhanger last week. Who will get the second and final rose? Who will go home brokenhearted?) Bachelor in Paradise just cracks me up…people are so quick to commit and to lock it down—they forget that finding the right one takes time. (And Kat incessantly playing with her hair (usually while whining) makes nails on a chalkboard sound like a symphony. Even so, I think John Henry is about to get tangled in her web.) Bottom line: love isn’t something you can manufacture, despite all of the producers’ best efforts.
On the Kindle screen…and otherwise in front of my eyes…
I haven’t read much by Dennis Lehane because I tend to shy away from thrillers/mysteries/scary stuff. That said, I did read—and love—The Given Day, a great work of historical fiction set in Boston early in the 20th century when it came out years ago. So when I heard about his recent title, Small Mercies, set in Boston in the early 1970s, with a plot centered around busing and the great racial divide, I immediately signed up for a library copy. I checked it out to take with me when I was traveling, got sucked right in, and found it a riveting—but also very sad—read. While what happened “back then” was awful, it makes the fact that it’s still happening that much more reprehensible. The acute realization that hate is a learned behavior and one that is still being widely taught makes me absolutely sick to my stomach. (But not too sick to eat or drink, which you’ll see in later spaces of this piece.) Bonus points that one of the families lived on Tuttle Street—our friends live on Tuttle Street!
After that I had the good fortune of being number one on the library waiting list for Tom Lake, a book sitting atop several best-seller lists and one which came with a very enthusiastic recommendation from my mom. On top of that I love Ann Patchett. All I need to do is think the words “Bel Canto” and am instantly transported back to that summer on the dock in Canada, the place where I was first introduced to the Ann Patchett catalog, most notably the beautiful story that is Bel Canto. I get goosebumps just thinking about it. Anyway…Tom Lake…I’m loving that it’s a modern-day story about a modern-day family…and conceptually, I like that the narrator is about my age…came from New England and lives in Michigan now (an area I know of because my sister lives and is raising her family there)…but there are times when I’m reading it, and I’m not sure what exactly gives me this feeling, but I forget it’s a contemporary story and I feel like I’m reading a reboot of Little Women. Not that there’s anything wrong with Little Women…it’s just…so…late 1860s. 😂 Anyway, I’m under halfway through, but am enjoying it. I like plots that meander without drifting. And I like loose ends, as long as they get tied up along the way.
(By way of update—I have not managed to finish the Bono memoir just yet…though I remain committed. It’s not bad…it’s just too much, too repetitive…so small doses seem to work better for me. Though one could argue after all these months of trying to get through it that the small doses don’t seem to be working all that well either. )
I also read this piece in the NYT Opinion section after Matthew Perry died, and I think Patti Davis captured a few things quite nicely, in particularly this: “That’s the best we can do in life — be truthful and hope those truths become lanterns for others as they wander through the dark.” When I read the essay I (surprisingly) could relate to some pieces and parts of it, notably a certain nagging loneliness or space inside that you’re always trying to outrun…in my case, though, I am able to find fulfillment despite it, but still I can understand the inherent loneliness that sometimes feels almost chromosomal. It’s weird…this unsettled feeling that lives within me, despite being perfectly content, almost always. But anyway, it’s all the more reason to be truthful, to let our truths be beacons in the night. For ourselves and maybe for others.
On the stove and in the oven…
Been cooking a lot lately, it seems, and that makes me happy. Sundays are for football food which means nachos and something to go with them, and so far it’s been my go-to fave, Instant Pot Green Chile Chicken Enchilada Soup and my other Fall/Winter go-to, chili, which I freestyle on. This week’s riff involved ground turkey, two kinds of beans, and no shortage of zip.
I also finally got around to making the awfully named “Marry Me Chicken” that’s been making the rounds. Despite the stupid name, it kept coming to my attention, I had it saved in my NYT Cooking recipe box, so it was time. And it did not disappoint, though no one under living under this roof said or did anything rash upon consuming it. 🤣🤣🤣 NYT Cooking has the best comment section—I listened and doubled the sauce, but didn’t listen and got no bread to sop it up with. Won’t make that mistake again. It’s delicious. I’m looking forward to my mom coming home from FL so we can make it for her—she loves a new recipe and she’ll love this. I think the flavor profile is, as she would say, right up her alley. (The link I provided above is to the NYT version of the recipe because that’s what I used, but if you’re not a subscriber, a Google search will get you what you need.)
I’ve been baking a little too, starting with these obscene Caramelitas when I was on my “all things Mexican” kick after my trip to Mexico, and most recently with this Easy Sour Cream Coconut Cake which—if you like coconut—is one of life’s true joys. (Pro tip: if you’re bringing the cake to a small function, bake it in two 9-inch rounds—that way you can bring one with you and leave one at home to enjoy with your morning coffee all week. Breakfast of Champions. Eat dessert early and spend the whole day burning it off!) Also…it’s not *that* easy. It uses a cake mix as a base (essentially saving you from measuring dry goods), but it also has several add-ins. It’s not hard, but…easy is a bit misleading. What is indisputable is its extreme deliciousness. Maybe they should have named it “Delicious Sour Cream Coconut Cake.”
In my glass…
The last of the Mexico indulgences, the Carajillo. Coincidentally this one had been on my list of things I’ve been wanting to try for months but never got around to it. One night at dinner our Mexican colleagues ordered them for us, and I was hooked after a sip. So good. I beelined to Curtis Liquors when I got home for my Quarenta y Tres (Licor 43). Now it might be time to get some decaf espresso if I’m going to make drinking them a “thing.” The only problem with that is Nespresso doesn’t seem to make any of the double espresso pods in decaf—and that’s really the perfect size.
First. World. Problems.
And now that fall has fallen, I practically tripped over myself getting to Trillium for some Apple Cider Daily Serving. Not-quite-beer but not-quite-cider, this fruity deliciousness is the perfect companion to falling leaves and crips temperatures, to bluebird skies, and the general majesty of nature. Hoping to get out there to grab some more 4-packs soon because I think my nephew’s girlfriend will really like them and we’re spending Thanksgiving together. Also it’s only 4%, so you drink it and stay pretty clear-headed.
And, as previously mentioned, I used that extra hour multiple times on Sunday, one of them was for this smoked Old Fashioned. And God was it heavenly.
In my ears…
1989 (Taylor’s Version). Come on…she’s a f-cking boss for re-recording her catalog to take it back. And her vocals stay true to the original but also show how she’s grown and improved over time. She’s a very talented singer-songwriter and a hardworking businesswoman. Not to mention a kick-ass performer. (Don’t believe me? Watch Miss Americana on Netflix. Watching might not convert you to fandom, but it might help you understand the rabid fandom of others.)
My Top 100 list…which I am working hard on as I listen while I walk. I’m hoping to reveal v1 in some form at some time, maybe even soon. I’ll tell you this—it will not be a ranked list. It’s more like 100 songs tied for first place. 🤣
And a bit of miscellania…
I voted yesterday which triggered a lot (A LOT) (A LOT!!!) of anxiety about Election 2024 and the state of the world today. The world is in crisis. And the US is the butt of every very not funny sociopolitical joke out there. Trump is leading despite, well, despite *everything* and Joe is just. So. Old. The future of politics is anything but bright. For young people you’ve got people like George “I should be in jail but you cant put me there, nanny-nanny-boo-boo” Santos, and Mayor Pete who somehow has become a caricature. To call it a shitshow would make it sound far better than it actually is. But let’s keep infighting. Because that will fix…nothing. Where on a road to nowhere. Our demise isn’t imminent, but it may be unavoidable. Unless we love the generations who will come after us enough to pull our heads out of our asses and return to reasonable. Remember the good old days when politics were about policy? Bring ’em back, stat!
That said, I did wake up to learn that OH scored a huge win for abortion rights. Freedom of choice is at the root of what makes AMerica great, theoretically. We have to find a balance between choice and risk—and if we’re gonna dig our heels in on our own right to bear arms, we best better loosen our grips on the reproductive systems of strangers.
I also spent quite a bit of time at BJ’s, in a lengthy installment of “Let No Good Deed Go Unpunished.” Shortly after Kerri’s Aunt Moe moved into assisted living, her TV went on the fritz. We had an old reliable bedroom TV that worked great but was ill-suited to a wall mount/stand that we wanted to get. So we gave her that TV, and bought a new bedroom TV and the perfect stand for it. End of story.
Welp.
End of chapter.
The TV we gave her crapped out last week. No big deal, no big surprise. The TV was old and didn’t owe anyone anything. We went to BJ’s Sunday, picked her up a nice new 43-incher, and went to set it up Monday night. The box was taped “funny,” which was a small, dull red flag. The plastic bag containing the remote was ripped open. Red flag #2. There were no remote batteries. Red flag #3. And the remote was filthy. Like disgusting. Red flags #4 and #5. It was so gross it gets two red flags. Kerri goes off to PT, I go back to BJ’s to handle the exchange, and we plan to meet back when we’re done. And that’s when things got interesting. The serial number on the TV didn’t match the serial number on the box so the transaction went from mildly annoying after a long wait in line to a borderline accusation of me trying to pull a fast one. (If I wanted to pull one of those I would have taped it back up, said I changed my mind, and then when asked if I had opened it simply said “no.”) Then, because I didn’t have Kerri’s BJ’s card, and because they said I had the wrong credit card of hers (I had the right one)—and after being asked if she even bought the actual TV—was sent out with the shitty TV and told to come back with “the purchaser, the right credit card, and the physical membership card” in a tone that implied they thought they’d never see me again.
F-ck.
That.
They do shitty quality control on returns, we fall victim to it, and the minute we leave the store, we’re f-cked. And they were so skeptical of my motives, acting as if it were my fault, as if people open TVs and match serial numbers between the unit and the box before leaving the store as a matter of course.
Anyhow…away I went…
So Kerri got home, off we went back to BJ’s, and when the Assistant Club Manager came down to the Service Desk, her tune had changed. Her “research” on Kerri’s purchase history must have been clean. 🤦🏼♀️ Interestingly she didn’t need Kerri’s membership card or the “right” credit card (which was the one I had with me originally) or anything I didn’t have with me before she sent me away. I guess I just look shady. Though we did insist on verifying serial numbers before leaving the store. Fool me once…
(As we left, a small Karmic favor was bestowed on me in the form of bumping into a former colleague front the way back good old days. Hadn’t seen him in a good 15-20 years, and the quick parking lot catch up made my heart happy.)
In any case, the new TV is set up, it has a “beautiful” picture, and Moe is thrilled—all’s well that ends well…but I’m still a little annoyed, on principle.
Because that’s how I am.
I'm also grateful you’re here and appreciate you spending time with me, week after week after week.
Because that’s also how I am.
Love you too.