- You cook a gigantic meatloaf on Sunday so you don’t have to cook on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and if you really push it, Thursday.
- You make an antipasto by emptying many jars and cans and throwing the stuff on a plate with some salami, all artfully arranged.
- You are still planning to learn what to do with a real artichoke, not the ones from the jar.
- You buy arugula and tender baby lettuce at the Farmers’ Market and then put it in your “show off” recyclable bag, Then you strut around the food stalls screwing up your nose at other people’s plastic bags. At the end of the week, you throw out your Farmer’s Market stuff because it’s much easier to prepare and eat a washed bag of salad mix.
- You go to a Farmer’s Market and bring your big dog on a long leash. You wait for people to pet your dog and talk to it, if you haven’t already tripped them with the damn leash. You don’t buy anything. What is it with you dog people at the Farmers’ Market? PS. I don’t have a dog.
Do you know any fake foodies?
Yesterday, another short woman and I rescued one of our own. She was trying to step on the frame of her shopping cart so she could reach up to the top shelf in the pickle and olive jar aisle. She wanted a super large jar of green stuffed olives, the economical jar the stores always put on the stratosphere shelf. Short people, like us, can never get, let alone see items like that.
Uh oh! Her cart was slipping as she stepped on it!
I screamed, “Wait!” Then, bracing her shopping cart against the shelves with my body, I held it in place while she tried again. No success. She did not want to drop the olive jar on my head, and she needed her two arms for her ascent and grab.
Time to reconnoiter. Where are the tall people when you need them? We needed reinforcements.
Another short woman was meandering down the aisle, blissfully unaware of the situation.
Pressing her into service, I commanded, “I’ll hold the cart. You grab her stuff!”
I held the cart. The olive lady climbed with one hand, got her jar of olives with other hand, and handed it off to the short receiver waiting for the catch.
Victory! We embraced.
Sisters of Shortness, We Must Unite! (Short men are welcome too. Ha Ha. Fat Chance!)
Written from my cozy kitchen while drinking coffee, this Valentine is for:
- You, the ones we make fun of with your hairnets, making and dishing out food to anybody who needs to be fed.
- You, who scrambled to get your kids somewhere, so that you could go to school and take care of my kids. I’m a grandma, but I’ve been there as a teacher and a parent.
- You, food workers who are probably making minimum wage, but you showed up at work. Maybe I went in and had a hot coffee before my shift. Maybe I went in and bought truffle oil for my snow day recipe.
- You, the ones, who care for the rest of us, and risk your own lives to get to work and do your job. How did you get to work? Who cleared the roads or rails for you? Did you leave your family alone during the storm while you slept at your hospital, firehouse or precinct? Maybe you spent the night up in the icy trees in a forklift, fixing wires.
Some of you probably “caught heat” from the complainers among us for not being “on the spot” with perfection. I am grateful that you were there.
Happy Valentine’s Day to You All!
Experts say, “Join the Mindful Eating Movement, and you will eat less and never be fat.”
I started with an egg salad sandwich. Before I bit in, I sat quietly, looking at my sandwich, and thinking about the eggs that made the egg salad.
Just how did those eggs come to be? I continued my serious meditation. Well, there had to be a boy chicken and a girl chicken, I think.
Then I started thinking about chickens mating. Hmm. I visualized the chickens in my mind.
I was so busy thinking about chickens going “all the way” that I absent-mindedly bit into the egg salad sandwich and continued eating it all up.
I don’t think this is how mindful eating is supposed to work. I will need to learn more.
Hello My New Friends,
As I get to know you, let me introduce my old friends. They’re imaginary. The first one is Grim Streaker and the second one is Overthinker. They sit in my head and make me crazy.
Grim says, “Elderly girl, start the darn blog! The clock is ticking.”
Overthinker says, “No, Rose, you’re not ready to start. Do another draft, and another, and another. You can’t write a blog! You’re not an expert on anything!”
Grim says, “That’s not true, Rose. You are indeed an expert …on Nothing. Just write about what you love. That’s all that counts.”
“Well, Grim,” I say, “I sure do love food. I love getting it and eating it!”
“Ta da!” Grim says.”Now start the darn blog!”
I say, “I’m writing about food, and then I’m hitting publish. Yikes! Up yours, Overthinker! Whoo-hoo Grim Streaker!”
Welcome everyone to Howdy Doody Foodie!
Rose, The Nothing Expert