Toast

Nothing says good morning like a stout cup of coffee and a perfectly toasted slice of hearty bread. Apparently, my husband agrees. A few evenings ago, he came in from his man cave garage, clutching a dog-eared magazine, and stated, "We have to get this toaster." I paused my on-line scrabble game and glanced at the bright shiny object of his desire. It was a Calphalon, 2 slot, stainless steel toaster, complete with an "Opti-Heat system that ensures accurate temperature control and even heat delivery." According to the reviewer, the toaster is a wizard at browning to perfection anything you can stuff into its extra-wide jaws.

Before I was pulled into the vortex of complete enthrallment, I asked the question I always ask when I am presented with a possible purchase, "How much does it cost?" Pause. Rustling of the magazine page. "I think you can get it for around $60.00."

Pause. "Seriously?"

"Well, don't you want something that really works? You can't put a price on that."

I sighed and said, "Where's the surprise in life without playing toaster roulette with your bread each morning? Sometimes it comes out a little splotchy. Sometimes it is a bit charcoaly. Sometimes it is still cold in the middle. And every once in awhile you hit the lottery and get the perfect slice of toast."

Not impressed, my husband replied, "Good grief. Why not get it right every time? Here is a chance to up the morning odds for a decent piece of toast. I don't think you can put a price on consistency."

"My, my, haven't we come a long way from our first toaster."

I reminded him of how we procured our first toaster during the early years of married life. It came about rather serendipitously. My husband purchased a dollar box at an auction. Dollar boxes are filled with the miscellany of life. Sometimes you find treasures in them and sometimes you are stuck with a clinker. This time we scored. His box contained a no-nonsense, 2-slice toaster, crumbs included. We cleaned it up and grandly placed in on our countertop. The little toaster pumped out many slices of morning treats, perhaps not to perfection, but with complete economic flair.

Throughout the years, we have had a few more toasters. All were able to toast. All were inconsistent. All were less than $19.99.

Still not convinced that cheap preempts perfection, my husband closed his magazine and said, "I'm going to find this toaster," and back to his man cave he retreated.

I must confess that our conversation has made me more critical of our current Procter-Silex, dull white toaster. The plastic around the slots is a little melty. The knob that sets the toasting level doesn't seem to correlate with the finished product. The slots are too narrow for thicker slices of bread. Every crevice is sprinkled with petrified crumbs.

Maybe it is time for a stainless steel, extra-wide slotted beauty to enter my world. It is hard to resist a kitchen helper that has my safety in mind with her extra-lift lever and cool to the touch exterior. She would add an air of regal luxury to the kitchen and grant us our morning wishes.

I think I know what my husband is going to get for his next birthday.

Christmas

Christmas is not my favorite holiday. There, I said it. Haul out the Grinch paint and color me Scrooge. Yes, I want to rant about commercialism, Betty Crockerism and Holly Jollyism, but I will spare you such redundancy. Instead, I propose that we all choose a Christmas antidote and drink deeply from the calm it may provide. Here are a few of my suggestions.

1) Start a Not-To-Do list--If your crack-the-whip list is bigger than the Bible by the middle of December, consider an eraser and a serious talk with yourself. How much of your list is filled with what you think should be done as compared to what makes sense? A Not-To-Do list is a prioritizing experience. Get rid of nonsensical tasks such as putting up holiday towels that no one dares to use or making pink divinity candy that no self-respecting person should eat. Use the everyday towels and eat graham crackers.

2) Use gift bags--If you insist on buying gifts, spare yourself the task of gift wrapping. And whatever you do, stay away from ribbons that need tying and bows that need making. Packages are containers, not products. Temper the need to tie your self esteem to perfectly wrapped presents. A grocery bag works for me, but I understand that there are those who need pretty.

3) Feed the birds--There is something soothing about watching cardinals, juncos and chickadees peck away at suet and seeds. They don't need holiday bowls, special silverware or expensive napkins. They just need a meal to keep them going for another day. I imagine most of don't need perfect tablescapes (sorry, Martha). What we do enjoy is a meal with friends and family, be it a turkey sandwich on a paper plate or apple juice in a sippy cup.

4) Silence--Pour yourself a cup of coffee, shut off all devices and let yourself ponder. If you have little peeps in your house, tell your family that you are going to the grocery store and stop at a coffee shop first. Shut your phone off and take deep breaths. Let your mind go to a happy place. No passport or luggage needed.

5) Celebrate plain--Adorning every available square inch of space is borderline cluttering. A well placed creche has more impact than a room filled with glitter, baubles and Santa dolls. Look away from Pinterest, people, and let your inner zen speak.

6) Watch a funny movie--Sure, It's a Wonderful Life is a classic seasonal movie, but watching an angst-ridden George Bailey stumble around trying to find himself for two plus hours is depressing. On the other hand, watching a cat chew on a Christmas-light cord or Ralphie spilling a hub cap full of lug nuts in the snow may not be very thought provoking but you will feel better for having been a part of such revelry. Save the heavyweight stuff for January.

All this chatter has inspired me to print this year's picture of a Christmas tree. Easy to put up and easy to take down. My kind of holiday.

Wishing you a merry and mania-free Christmas!

Pie

Pie. A three letter word that speaks volumes. There are books, TV shows and diners devoted to this world of crust encased goodness. The recipes range from cream-filled to meringue-topped to fruit-streuseled to cream-cheesed to everything in between. Pie seems to be the Holy Grail of the dessert kingdom. Bakers go to their graves clutching stain-blotched recipe cards that hold the secrets to a perfect pie.

In reality, it is not about the pie filling, important as that is, it is about the crust. A silky smooth pie covered with mounds of sweet fluffy meringue can be toppled from perfection by a tough, tasteless crust. There is nothing more sad than a plate of disemboweled pie crust left behind like a piece of picked over carrion. Better to just eat a dish of lemon custard and call it a day. Ironically, there are also those who will leave a delicious crust behind to "save on calories." Good Granny. Order a dish of sherbet and stop insulting the cook.

My grandmother made delicious pies and I don't remember more than a crumb being left on any plate she served us.  Her meringues were always perfectly coiffed. The fruit pies were sweetened just right. And the streusel toppings had the perfect amount of crunch. But the best part of all was the crust. Flaky, tender and flavorful. Her secret? I believe it was lard. Yes, lard. Fat. A word that is poison to many but golden to a true baker. Lard was readily available for my grandmother so it made good sense to use it in her cooking. We were also part of a generation that recognized the value of fat in our diets. Putting in a full day on the farm could not be sustained by a plate of lentils and brussel sprouts (delicious as both are). Real labor needed all the food groups and a treat or two to make life interesting. Enter the pie.

Fast forward to today. Most of us probably don't need pie to sustain a physically demanding day but life without pie just seems wrong. We are no less obsessed with sweet treats than our ancestors, we just have to temper ourselves a bit more. I inherited my grandmother's love of a good pie but I don't think I will ever achieve her skill level. My pies tend to be hit and miss. I have experimented with everything from old cookbook recipes to store bought crusts. All I know so far is that a store prepared crust is okay in a pinch but a made-from-scratch, loved-by-a-rolling pin, ingredients-just-right crust can be a work of art. I think I have created just a couple in my lifetime. Most of my attempts are acceptable at best and a few never make it to a pie plate (case in point last week, disaster!).

So, if you are fortunate enough to enjoy a really good pie this holiday season, don't forget to thank the cook. And eat your crust!

Intruder

The crashing noise was unexpected and startling. It came from the direction of my deck. My brain quickly analyzed the possibilities. The fierce wind. A rogue squirrel. A broken bird feeder. A cat burglar. All seemed possible.

All were incorrect. One was almost accurate. No burglar, just a cat. A beautiful apricot and cream colored feline had knocked over my tray of bird seed. I imagine that she had miscalculated a leap for a little cheeper snacking on an overhead bird feeder. By the time I reached the patio door, she was doing what all cats do when they are caught in an act of malfeasance, sauntering nonchalantly away as if everything that happened was planned and perfectly normal. End of story.

I should be angry at the marauding tabby, but I am not. Of course, I am not happy about the upset tray of bird seed. And I would rather not have my bird feeding station become the Royal Buffet for cats and other perpetrators. But, cats are cats, birds are birds and people are stupid when they try to take sides. Tempting birds to visit my deck will inevitably tantalize other lovers of birds and seed, some with four paws.

Every day I watch a few portly squirrels munch their way through freshly stocked seeds. It is not my intent to feed them but investing time and money on dubious methods of resistance makes little sense. Their stubby little paws share space with the blunt beaks of their feathered neighbors. Selective feeding may work for zoos but not so much for unfenced spaces.

Growing up on a farm hammered the laws of nature home for me. We loved our cats, but we respected their place in the food chain. Mice and other vermin were fair game on most days and so was a favorite pet bird one disastrous afternoon. (Sorry about that, little sis.) We also knew that on any given day, our favorite cat might not return, a possible victim of a larger carnivore or a blundered attempt at jumping over a barbed wire fence. Not pretty. Just real.

As I watch my bird feeding station, I am reminded that it is not always wise to rewrite the scripts of nature. The unadorned, ubiquitous house sparrow is just as hungry for bird seed as is the brilliantly beautiful cardinal. The nose crinkling bunny rabbit is as interested in the tender shoots of garden beans as I am. The neighborhood cat is programmed to stalk and hunt. The chatty squirrels stuff their chubby cheeks in fear of lean days ahead. The sharp sighted hawk circles our backyards in search of bird, mammal or reptile.

And I know that a spilled pan of bird seed is just a sign of nature's bounty. Enjoy the goodness.

Bewitched

A popular TV series in the late 60's and early 70's was a show called Bewitched. The premise, like many hit shows, was a story line that most individuals might find silly and a bit weird. A good witch named Samantha marries a mortal named Darrin Stephens and together they build a life in suburbia. Hard to believe such a frothy fantasy was a top pick for millions of viewers and continues in syndication today.

When I was young, TV watching was a limited event due to the black and white behemoth that sat on the edge of the sitting room. Its reception was spotty and only a couple of channels were relatively reliable. Selected shows were based on a large family's compromises and prescribed bedtimes. Bewitched was certainly not a first pick due to its shady connection with possible witchcraft but somehow we managed to sneak in enough episodes to know that Samantha had a secret power that seemed oh so appealing. Imagine being able to twitch your nose and instantly have dishes go from dirty to sparkling. One more twitch and your messy room was clean and orderly. To this day, I secretly long for a way to go from grimy to glittery in minutes.

Clearly, I never became the power wielding Samantha Stephens but I'm afraid I did become a different character, Gladys Kravitz. Gladys was the curious, snoopy neighbor who was always on the edge of discovering the reason behind the aura of strangeness in the Stephens household. She would pop up at inopportune times in the Stephens house, seeing and hearing things that caused her face to scrunch up in pondering moments. She was only too willing to share her observations with her long suffering husband and anyone else who would entertain the possibility of miscreants in their midst.

My Gladys moments are a little less dramatic. For years, I have had a full on view of the neighborhood through my large living room window. Any time that I am perched on my couch reading or playing another game of Scrabble with my computer, I am also watching folks walk by my house. I can set my clock to the determined walking pursuits of many dog-walkers, stroller-pushers and I'm-going-to-get-fitters. I've developed stories in my head about the lives of my window actors. The cigarette puffing young lady, hand in hand with her older gentleman friend, is always being pulled along by an itty bitty dog. I've made her the second wife of a love triangle gone bad. The doggedly determined speed walker who goes by in the early evening hours has become someone who is scared witless to gain a pound, perhaps due to past taunts by thoughtless others. The portly gentleman, who walks by in calculated, measured steps, wearing a pith helmet during the heat of the day, has become someone who just received bad news from the doctor and is determined to turn things around. The lady with the swimmingly giant white coat is afraid to buy a size smaller because it might jinx good works that have already been accomplished. And the little dogs who no longer trot by with their owners have probably gone on to doggie heaven, leaving behind saddened loved ones.

All my Gladys Kravitz musings have come to a a screeching halt this month, however. We installed a new living room window with internal pleated shades that can be lowered, not raised.  It makes far more sense to lower the shades so we can let light in without compromising our privacy throughout the day and evening hours. While I love our new, sleek window, I must confess that I miss my sidewalk friends. No more story speculations and daydreaming inspirations and no more Gladys moments. Certainly, I can lower my shades completely and continue the novellas I have created in my head but perhaps it is time to let go, at least for awhile. Or, I can join the pavement pounders and become part of their stories.

On second thought, I'll just lower the shades a bit farther. Enough exercise for one day.

Math

Starting a new week is like beginning a math problem with positive and negative integers. Sometimes you move forward and sometimes you pivot the other way. Case in point. Our aging home is in desperate need of a few upgrades. Time and money are the usual roadblocks but we are determined to persevere and take one baby step at a time in hopes of maintaining a home we can sell before assisted living units start calling our names.

Last Saturday it was time to tackle the kitchen sink and the basement shower. My husband is a very skilled carpenter, but he knows that his expertise stops when it comes to the world of plumbing. He is also not one to watch eighteen YouTube videos in an attempt to learn how to install a garbage disposal from a guy with questionable credentials. So we hired a plumber to take care of the sink and shower details.

Oh my goodness, nothing says love like a garbage disposal that doesn't howl like a monkey and a kitchen faucet that doesn't leak and looks good at the same time. Three steps forward, for sure. Until I started up the vacuum cleaner. As I made a final pass over the hallway floor, the Suck-o-Master pulled in a chunk of a throw rug and began a horrific wheezing. I immediately shut off the machine and tugged the offending rug out of its mouth. All good. Maybe not. After hitting the start button, an acrid smell filled the air and no suction was evident. I've been down this road before. Time for a new belt. One step backward.

Next, the dishwasher. I ran my usual load of grubbiness in a machine that I'm sure is only two years old (which means that it's probably triple that number but who is counting). When the cycle was completed I unloaded the dishes and as I pushed the bottom rack back into place, I noticed a shimmering haze on the floor of the machine. Standing water. Drainage not working. One more step backward. It is the weekend so no service calls will be made without a serious hit to the bank account so suck it up and do the dishes the old-fashioned way. Another step backward.

Thanks to our plumber, the basement shower seems to be working without incident. A new shower head is still needed but we can install that ourselves. One step forward. Time to record a TV show for the evening. Good grief. One of the remote's arrow keys quit working. I attempted the usual interventions, new batteries, turning the TV off and on, banging the remote and willing it to work. One step backward. Finally, I forcefully pushed on the arrow key for several seconds and it chugged into a sluggish working order. Half a step forward. I'm quite sure this isn't going to cure the problem. We will be adding to our list of errands a trip to the cable service provider sometime soon. Another step backward.

I think I am on the deficit end of the number line this go-around, but it is best not to get too mathy about it all. Use the scientific method instead. My hypothesis is that our house and household appliances with eventually be in working order. Just not all on the same day.

Delicious

Days can sometimes trudge along with a sameness that dulls the spirit. It is not that we are incapable of seeing the goodness in our surroundings. It is more likely that we are entrenched in the tasks at hand and feel the need to stay focused. There is nothing wrong with that but it can lead to a string of lackluster moments. Fortunately, we can be snapped out of banality with bursts of deliciousness that come our way, planned or otherwise. I don't live a life of Facebook worthy posts or passport toting adventures so my delectable distractions come by softly. Here are a few that never cease to delight.

1) Glasses of ice cold water--I warned you. My life is dull. But I just cannot take a sip of icy cold water without sighing and feeling great relief as my thirst is slaked in such a pleasant manner. And the price is right. It's a win.

2)  Cardinals--The sight of this mild mannered, crimson bird always gives me pause. With their peaked foreheads, audacious coloring and imposing size, they have the potential to be tyrannical kings. They, however, maintain an air of humility as they flit quickly in and out of a feeding station, never bossing away the smaller peeps. In the dusky evening hours, when most birds have gone off to sleepier times, my cardinal friends stop by and chat for a few moments with their energetic bursts of chirping, reminding me that they have a voice, too.

3) Pianos--From the lowly, upright workhorse to the stately grand showoff, they all goad me to play a song or two. My skills are not Carnegie Hall worthy, but I know enough to to let my fingers match note to ivory key, allowing me to get lost in a cascade of tumbling melodies. Through it all, I am transported to places of rest and inspiration.

4) Hand-written recipes--I have cookbooks filled with more recipes than I could possibly execute in a century of days. My favorite recipes, however, are those that are handwritten with love on a recipe card or scrap of paper because they are recipes laden with memories. Some are cherished recipes from beloved relatives who are no longer with us. Other recipes are from friends I haven't seen in years but I can picture their faces each time I peruse my recipe box. Many recipes are now on stain splotched, faded cards. The sensible thing to do is enter them into a computer for safekeeping. That will not happen under my watch. Handwriting is going the way of the rotary phone and I want to preserve such relics for as long as possible.

5) The first day of a vacation--This is a moment ripe with the potential for goodness. The frenetic planning, packing and unplugging are left behind. The discovery of forgotten toiletries, missed off-ramps and over-priced tourist stops hasn't occurred yet. Life looks good through the lens of leaving town. Enjoy it with gusto.

6)  Autumn--I am always in desperate need of trading the suffocatingly hot and steamy blanket of summer  with the chilled blast of refreshing cold fronts. The trees join me with a nod of pleasure as they display their brilliancy. Lawns stop their incessant whining for attention and gardens beg to be put to rest. It is sweater time and I am not afraid to love it.

I hope your upcoming week is filled with much deliciousness.