Do Better

Making New Year's resolutions is a laudable act. Many folks set their goals on January 1 and I suspect, many break them by January 2. Some persevere and survive until the end of January and a few stick with it and achieve their resolutions, God bless them. I wish I could report being in the latter group. I am not. I am too lazy to set a goal most years and my inner Eeyore takes care of the rest.

I do, however, like a phrase a colleague of mine uses on occasion, "I will try to do better." To be fair, the statement is used in an attempt to keep the wolf away from the door when unreasonable demands are being made. I think it is genius. Who can argue with attempts to do better? It is the Tortoise taking steps to win the race. 

One way "I will try to do better" this year is condiment management. My fridge door is often a jumble of accouterments purchased with the best of intentions. In defense of myself, I like to cook and I use many of them.  My jars of mustard are always safe. I need the glow-in-the dark yellow kind for deviled eggs and my favorite dipping sauce. I use the pungent, grainy Dutch Boetje's brand for my Apricot Mustard pork sauce. Honey mustard is perfect for a quick schmear on a grilled ham sandwich and Bourbon Mustard adds an earthy pop to bland chicken sandwiches. 

That being said, there are a few jars and bottles rattling around that defy my attention. I would rather move them to another shelf than make a decision on their usefulness. The cute little jar of horseradish probably needs to go. I like horseradish but my husband is not a big fan of blow-your-nostrils-clean condiments. I think it has a shelf life of, let's say, forever, but that is probably not reason enough to let it take up precious real estate space. I also experimented with a tube of anchovy paste, one tablespoon in a recipe to be precise, and, believe it or not, haven't used it since. Sorry, little fish paste, you're a goner this year. The off brand of teriyaki sauce I purchased because my favorite brand was unavailable at the time is taunting me with a "use me" look. The Dutch in me knows I should finish it before I buy the next bottle but the cook in me says, "yuck, I am not a fan of this one." I am going to let the cook win this round. The ketchup bottle with just a dibble left in it because I am sure I am going to add water to it, swoosh it around and use it my next barbecue sauce is not going to survive, either. And, au revoir to the bottle of barbecue sauce that looked interesting on the store shelf but was a bland disappointment.

One challenge in the war against unfinished condiments is the ambiguous "shelf life" labeling. There are use-by-dates, best-if-used-by dates and no dates at all. If it has a date, is it an expiration date for an unopened bottle or is it referencing a final moment of viable usage? It's a guessing game, for sure. Somehow, I convince myself that jars in my fridge door become immortal and therefore, I can ignore them. 

Going forward, I will try to do better. 

And, watch out sock drawer, you're next.

Where Oh Where?

Every winter morning I play a little game called, "Where's the Paper?" The rules are simple. The morning sky must still be dark. The outdoor temperature must range from 20 below to 20 above. A slim little newspaper enshrouded in plastic must be randomly tossed by a random vehicle operated by a random driver. And the paper must land in a different location each day.

The objective of the game is to find the paper before my thinly clad feet (if clad at all) become too cold to continue. So far, I have an 80% success rate and on the days I am unsuccessful, I grumble greatly to my husband as he nonchalantly finds the paper immediately. He very graciously reminds me that he has the advantage of light by the time he is out on the driveway. My bruised ego reluctantly agrees but my inner crabby child vows to do better next time.

One would think the random tosser of papers could hit the wide target of the driveway. Not so at our house. The paper has been found wedged between the lawn and the garbage container awaiting pick up for the day. The paper has been found under the back of the pickup on the driveway, somewhat understandable with a hefty toss by Mr. Random. The paper has been found under the front of same pickup, defying the laws of physics in my estimation. The paper has been found snuggled in the great expanse of snow on our lawn. And the paper has been found resting against the first step of our front deck, hidden from immediate viewing.

It is a testament to my dull life that I take on the challenge of finding a newspaper in the morning like I am ready to ride a wild bull for the PBR tour. I have developed different strategies for the task. One is the full driveway sweep, walking the perimeter first and then crisscrossing in the center. There is the duck and view system where I get down at eye level with the pickup and scan from that angle. There is the kicking at the snow strategy where I am focused on objects in the white background. If I am really serious, I don a coat, footwear and turn on extra lights. This seems a little wimpy to me but even bull riders wear a helmet occasionally. If all else fails, I huff and puff and tell myself the paper is running late and thus, cannot be found. This is only true 5% of the time so the hunt continues.

In all honesty, it is not a paper I am searching for. It is the dodo bird. Mr. Random is flinging his goods onto fewer and fewer driveways as fewer and fewer readers require hard copies. Sure, I can read the digital issue on my tablet or computer. Yes, I can save money by reading scraps of news doled out by the purveyors of "free" news. Of course, I can rely on Instagram, Facebook and Tweets for all the happenings in the world. But, I cannot give up the feeling of newsprint in my hands in the morning. It is a perfect pairing with a cup of coffee and my peanut butter toast.

So, I continue to hunt for the newspaper every morning and say a little blessing for Mr. Random who continues to play the game with me.