Staring out the Window

My view

This is the view from the windowseat, where I am lying now, sipping wine, staring through the window, thinking that I probably should Windex the dog’s nose prints from the window before I take this picture, but I’m too lazy.

If you follow me on Pinterest you know that I love windowseats. This one, the one I am sitting on now, isn’t so much a windowseat as a long daybed next to a window. A windowseat, to be true one, in my opinion, has to have a “nooky” quality to it. It has to be enclosed and womb-like in some way.

This one isn’t. But it will do. It will do just fine.

Today was kind of rainy and drippy. I went to Wegmans and as I was putting my groceries into my car, a girl about 14 came up to me and asked if I would drive her and her 3 friends (boys), to Subway.

What???

I don’t ever remember seeing a Subway in Corning.

“Where’s Subway?” I asked.

“Oh, it’s down that way,” she said, pointing toward Rt. 17.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll take you.”

And I did. I drove them down Market Street for about 3 lights and then they jumped out. They didn’t say thank you. They laughed. It was a kind of a prank, I think. I felt stupid. I wished I had said no.

I thought of my friend Frank who is always helping people who are in need. At first these kids looked kind of lost and in need. They said they weren’t from around here. So I think I didn’t do a “good deed” but a “stupid deed.”

And now I am sitting on the windowseat, looking out at the lawn, with the view of the hanging petunias and the hammock, and thinking about my stupid deed. I am feeling like a chump.

I’ll bet Frank would have seen right through those kids. I’ll bet they wouldn’t have even asked Frank for a ride because Frank’s not a chump. Me? Maybe I have “Chump” written all over me.

Drinks and 6 o’clock

I missed yesterday’s posting of the photo of the day, the theme of which was “Drink.”

It was an early morning. We had to be up in Ithaca for G’s surgery by 9 AM. I got up and had coffee. She got up and swallowed one pill with half a dixie cup of water. The next time she had something to drink it looked like this:

G Drinks

I remember working in a coffee place once and asking customers if they would like their coffee in an IV drip. Hah. Hah.

Trust me. There was no coffee in that bag. There was “fluid,” yes, but only the kind that keeps the vital organs…well…vital.

I, on the other hand had this:

Drink

So my vital organs were doing the Macarena.

That made me the driver by default because only humans with lively vital fluids in their veins are allowed to drive cars, not dehydrated zombie surgical patients who are only permitted to swallow their own saliva.

The day had its moments. Surgery was delayed by 3 hours. But on the up-side, the surgery was a success.

On the down-side, there was wooziness and lots of projectile vomiting.

On the up-side, it held off for the drive home which took almost 2 hours.

On the down-side, there is now a timed regimen of pills and a cast and an arm in a sling.

On the up-side, there is coffee and food and DVRed episodes of Cake Boss.

For me, there is also this:

6 o’clock

Which is nice to have at 6 o’clock on a beautiful night in June, after a day of bagged fluids and barf bags.

Cheers.

 

Hat Hair

I will wear a hat if it’s below 40, or windy, or snowing

I will pull my hood up if it’s raining, rather than carry an umbrella.

I have never found a baseball cap that fit my head .

Visors should only be worn by poker players.

But birthday hats? Yeah, birthday hats rock. Everyone looks great in a birthday hat, don’t you think?

Pop one on, pull the elastic around your chin, and commence partying down.

Bring on the pinata!

Bring on the cake and the ice cream.

Right, Boomer?

Birthday Boomer

 

 

 

Poor Me…More Wine

sign

This sign hangs in my dining room (right under the one that says: “Live well, Love much, Laugh often”)

I bought it for more for the word play on the homonym than because I resonated with the sentiment.

I love wine, and have grown to love it more and more over the years as I’ve trained my palate to taste more dimensions of it.

Mostly though, I love the language of wine. I love how some wines are “soft” and other are “metallic.”  I have tasted flabby wines and flinty ones, musty ones and mellow ones. I don’t like “green” wine (young, unaged, high in acidity), but prefer the “chewy”ones with great body and a strong aftertaste.

I love smelling them and figuring out if it’s licorice, tobacco, chocolate, or cherries I’m smelling.

I love the word “terroir” and thinking about how different soils within the very same vineyard can produce such different tasting grapes.

I have very rarely drowned my sorrows in a bottle of wine. (Mostly because I very rarely have “sorrows.”) A glass of wine, for me, is a treat and a delight, not a way to numb out or medicate.

That’s why I can hang this sign in my house. It’s just a funny play on words.

This is my favorite scene in the movie Sideways. It makes me swoon.

Ironing

When I was a kid there was no permanent press. You had to iron every thing. I used to cheat though, and just iron the sleeves and the collar of the blouse that went under  the jumper I wore to Catholic school. Since only the sleeves and the collar showed, what was the point of ironing the whole blouse?

On Saturdays my mother ironed. It was a whole freakin’ production. She’d sprinkle each garment to be ironed with water from a special sprinkler bottle, then roll each one up like a jelly roll and put it in the fridge in a plastic bag. Then she’d rig up the iron, attaching its cord to this thing like an antenna on a spring that kept the cord out of her way as she ironed.

She was big into spray starch too, so there was always a can of that at the ready. Then she’d turn on the TV and iron all afternoon until the fridge was empty of the clothes jelly rolls.

I liked heavy pound of the iron on the board, the smell of the steam, the chemically smell of the starch. The afternoon would drag on, as all the door knobs filled up with freshly pressed clothes.

Maybe that’s why I like to iron. It relaxes me. I smooth out my life along with the wrinkles, and as I work the nose of my Rowenta into the puckers and the creases at placket and cuff, it feels like deep therapy, the kind that requires a lot of tissues and even, sometimes, a pillow to cry into.

On My Plate

Because the weather was kind of meh, we jumped into the car and headed for Wegmans by way of Target, Panera, TJMaxx and Bon Ton.

I saw a woman in a turquoise polyester pantsuit.

I had a tall soy latte.

I said “Hi” to one of my yoga students in Target.

I had black bean soup at Panera.

I bought a lipstick that looks like a crayon in Bon Ton.

By the time I got to Wegmans, I was whoah, kinda done.

I picked up a bag of frozen shrimp, a box of couscous, a bag of snowpeas, and a piece of ginger root, in addition to the other stuff on my list, and made this for dinner:

gingery shrimp and couscous

It was fast and easy and yum. After the turquoise pantsuit, it was all I had the energy for.

Gingery Shrimp and Couscous

1 tablespoon olive oil

1 large yellow onion, finely chopped

3 tablespoons finely chopped ginger

1 cup white wine

1 pound shrimp, peeled and deveined

8 ounces snow peas, cut in half on the diagonal

1/2 teaspoon kosher salt

1/4 teaspoon black pepper

1 10 ounce box couscous

Heat the oil in a large skillet over medium heat. Add the onion and cook until golden brown. Stir in the garlic and ginger and cook 2 minutes. Add the wine and bring to a boil. Nestle the shrimp in the onions and simmer for 2 minutes. Add the snow peas and stir to combine. Continue cooking until the shrimp are bright pink and cooked through, about 2 minutes. Add salt and pepper. Meanwhile, cook the couscous according to direction. Spoon the shrimp and snow peas over mounds of couscous on a plate and serve.

Empty

I pass this phone booth every day on my dog walk.

phone booth

I don’t even see it most of the time. The only time I see it is if the sky looks likes it’s going to open up and drench me, and then I think: “Well, I could always just duck into that phone booth if I had to.

I don’t see things in my environment if I can’t connect my life with them. Like McDonalds. There’s a McDonalds in my town, and I drive past it fairly regularly, but since I never eat there, I don’t even see it. It’s almost like my brain blurs it out, the way the editors blur out the nipples of the girls on Survivor if their bathing suits happen to “malfunction”during the Immunity Challenge.

It’s like it’s not even there.

There was a time in my life, however, when I was very aware of phone booths and I used one almost every day. I spent a fair amount of time waiting in line to use an occupied one, and cursing the blabbermouth inside yakking so long (though I never had the guts to bang on the door to rush them along, like people used to do to me!)

Another phone booth I pass on my dog walk acts like a whistle and when the wind blows, eerie sounds emerge from it. It sounds like the voices of the ghosts of everyone who has ever spoken into its receiver.

(Creepy.)

phone booth phone

Today I picked up the receiver and was shocked to hear a dial tone.

Then I did what everyone does when they pass a pay phone:

coin slot

I checked for change:

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