A Different Choice

“It’s all about choice.” She wasn’t exactly hemming and hawing, but she definitely began using care in choosing her words.

It was my first visit to our new dentist’s office and as my hygienist and I were becoming acquainted, I’d asked her if she lived nearby and she’d replied, “Yes, but like you, I’m originally from the city.” “So, how do you like it here?” It’s a question I’m constantly asked in regard to our move to the country, so I tried it on her. Though she’d been chatting away, I noticed her pause, both physically and verbally. “Well, it’s definitely different.” She was quiet for a second then, with a sigh, “My husband was born and raised out here.” She offered no other explanation.

We went on to talk about the things from the city we’d both enjoyed and now missed. She became more animated again. “Oh, how I miss the little ethnic neighborhoods. I miss being able to go into a little European bakery, or stopping for a spicy bite of vegetarian aloo at a Nepalese restaurant. And the nearest Starbucks out here? 40 miles, at least. I mean, I hate to complain, because you end up sounding like a whiner. And certainly people who are from around here don’t understand.” She’d waved her hand in the direction of her co-workers with that last sentence.

She slowed her movement again, took a slow breath, and said. “It’s all about choice. And we certainly don’t have much choice out here.”

As I was making my next appointment with the reception clerk, my hygienist leaned near me and said, “You know, you don’t have to wait six months, if you feel like talking to someone who also misses the city, stop by anytime. We can be each other's ear.”

Both of the photos below were taken from the same distance on the new, much maligned, Apple maps. So they should, I hope anyway, show the proper perspective.

Below, the red pin shows the location of our beloved "city house"

City Mouse, Country Mouse

To me this is the classic tale of “different.”  You know Aesop’s fable, I’m sure. But, just in case you don’t, here is my digest version: 

There are two mouse cousins, one resides in the city and one resides in the country. The City Mouse visits his country cousin, who offers a meal of simple food. I don’t exactly remember, but it was like biscuits and gravy, or gruel seasoned with fatback grease, or such. His hip city cousin, who, may I add at this point, was apparently lacking in manners, balked at having to eat such fare. “You must visit me in the city and see what fine cuisine we have.” (I don’t think those were Aesop’s exact words, but it’s what comes to my mind.)

Anyway, Country Mouse makes a visit to the city for a taste of the "good life," and is properly wined/dined like royalty. I’m certain that they also traveled about in limos and visited all the “hot-spots,” etc., but that was not part of Aesop’s version. In his story, however, the pair is subsequently attacked by feral city cats, rats or terriers. The moral of the story being the trade-off of simple food and a simple, but safe life versus opulence, big-city lights and big-city crime.

Now, some time after Aesop’s tale, Beatrix Potter “reworked” the story and reversed the visits. As an aside, I do like this woman and find her personal story fascinating. So, Ms. Potter has the Country Mouse first visiting her city cousin. I’m not sure if she made them females, but I’d like to think that she did. The Country Mouse is abhorred by the rich, foreign foods, and is also chased by feral cats, rats or terriers. Upon her cousin’s visit to the country, the city girl is thus frightened by the noisy farm machinery, the tornado-prone weather, and the multitudes of huge farm animals, that can squish a tiny mouse in one step. Like I said before, not exactly Potter verbatim, but my take on her work.

But, here is where I like Beatrix’s version better. Her moral is definitely “it’s not good, it’s not bad, it’s just different,” no trade-offs, just different. Each mouse is apparently in the right place for herself.

Just Different

Moving from "Delicious" to "Different"... kinda deliciously different? Anyway my inspiration for December, and I hope this works, is the word "different."

Just Different

I’ve never considered myself much of an athlete. So, it’s kind of funny that I was standing in the middle of a ball court when I had an epiphany. It was a hot, sunny day. I was listening to a local guide tell us about the ball games played at the Gran Juego de Pelota in Chichen Itza, located in today’s Mexican state of Yucatan. He vividly described a grueling, sometimes multi-day event. As his voice reverberated off the walls, I swore I could hear the crowds cheer. I closed my eyes and I could picture the athletes, I could feel their exhaustion, I could sense their determination, I almost could smell their perspiration... Well, anyway you get what I'm saying. I was there.

The guide pointed to the goal. It was a seemingly, way-too-small stone hoop, high up on a side wall, through which the ball had to pass in order to make a goal and win the game.

It sometimes took days, he said, for a team to make a goal. The first team to make the goal was the winner. Our guide, who claimed to be a Mayan descendent, explained that some archeologists believe that the losing team was sacrificed, possibly decapitated. He let that sit with us for a moment or two, then challenged us to consider that it is also possible that the winning team was the actual group sacrificed. “They had different spiritual views back then,” he continued. “They may have believed that it was an honor to be sacrificed and sent to the next life. We don’t and will never know for certain.” Again, he let that sit with us, just for a bit.

And that’s when he pronounced the words that would, from that point, alter my thinking. Simple words that had more impact on me than any preacher’s sermon. “Just consider it,” he said. “And remember, it’s not right, it’s not wrong, it’s just different.” He may have talked some more, I don’t remember. Those words tumbled sweetly in my head.  It’s not right, it’s not wrong, it’s not good, it’s not bad. It’s just different.

I wanted to have a photograph of the Chichen Itza Great Ball Court here, but since we recently moved, and we still haven't sorted out all of our boxes... So, try as I might, I couldn't find the photos we took in Chichen Itza. I'm actually thinking of doing an "artist's rendition" of the scene. Tune in to see if I put, what I'm certain will be, a childish cartoon drawing.  ;-)

The End of Delicious

This is the End My Friends...

Here is the Cookie Central Shortlist 2012. I will ask each of our cookies

 to step up and introduce themselves:

Hi, my name is Chocolate Citrus Truffle. You can find my recipe on the Land O’ Lakes website.

Heath Bar Shortbread here, deliciously dipped in chocolate, (basically because she can’t make a

recipe without trying to fancy it up.) Google me if you want my recipe.

Kourambiedes is my name.  I’m Greek. She found me in an old Joy of Cooking cookbook. But, like Heath Bar Shortbread said, she just can’t leave well enough alone. So, because she didn’t like the idea of putting a clove in each cookie and, because she didn’t have Ouzo on-hand, she substituted sherry, in which she steeped the cloves for 24 hours before removing them and using the steeped sherry.

That's me on the right there, next to the cappuccino brownies and chocolate-covered strawberries. She actually had to pull this photo out of the archives, because, and I'm not kidding, I got scooped up before she could even take a picture of me. As you can probably tell, I have the distinction of being the top favorite of the girls this weekend. They call me “Pinks” but, my real name is Cherry White Chocolate Shortbread. And this is crazy, but google me, maybe?

I’m called Strawberry and Cream. I am brand new to her list and I don’t mind saying, I also was a hit with a couple of young ladies who sampled me this weekend. You can find me on the King Arthur website, but be forewarned: I require special molds.

I’m the big brother of Strawberry and Cream. I’ve been around, if you know what I mean. My name is Chocolate-Filled Walnut Cookie. You can find a version of me on the King Arthur site, but like my little sister said, you can basically throw away the mold when you make us.

Hi, (blush) I’m, uh, my name is Butter Mint. I'm kind of shy. I came from the Land O’ Lakes website. I think she added a light mint-scented buttercream, and then sprinkled on some pink finely-chopped Andes chocolate mints. The girls did so like me. They even asked her to quadruple me for next year. I overheard them call me the sleeper fave. Tee-hee!

I'm Chocolate Cherry Cookie and the bee-atch, uh, I mean, the Boss, is leaving me off the list next year. Can you believe this? She said I was nothing but trouble and I spread too much. Whatever that means. I'm suspicious that it was something she did wrong. All I'm sure of is that her husband liked me, liked me a lot. I'm wondering if she's just jealous.

I wasn’t on the longlist, but somehow she finagled to get me on the shortlist. My name is Linzer. And like my cousins Choc and Strawb, I originated on the King Arthur website. But, just between you & me, I overheard her say, when she read the recipe, “That’s way too much cinnamon! I’m cutting in half.”

Hey, s'up? I’m your basic butter cookie. She prefers the Land O’ Lakes recipe version of me, in which I have the name Best Ever Butter Cookie. The name says it all. And do I clean up nicely. Oh, and she made me say it, otherwise I wouldn't bother to mention it - The cookies  in this photo were decorated by one of the girls at "cookie central" & so are not a true depiction of her own precious little cookies.

And last, but not least... I’m the other basic, go-to cookie. I’m Scandinavian and my name is Spritz. She loves me because I make it so easy for her to look like she’s some kind of pro. I do require a cookie press, but I’m worth the investment, a little make up and I look like I belong in the finest bakery. ;-)

Back to Delicious

Here's a visual update on "cookie central." To date, 9 different types of cookies have been baked and are awaiting decorating. Tune in next Monday to see the outcome.

Here are some of the common cookie-baking staples I use, but in larger amounts,

 i.e. 8 pounds of butter, nearly 8 pounds of flour, so far.

Some of the butter is browned.

After breaking one electric cookie press, and 3 ratchet-style presses, I, this year, reverted to 

using a 40+ year old screw-type. It worked perfectly!

Learning to Love, a Story

We’d finally decided to try living together. We’d been seeing each other for about nine months and it was starting to be a hassle going back and forth from our respective homes, either late night or early morning. The problem now was how to fit in one apartment and yet keep our stuff separate, if we didn’t make it. We owned duplicates of practically everything. Being a solutions person, I suggested we rent one of those self-storage units. “Great idea!” he said and immediately took charge of the matter.

Did I mention that the cohabitation was his idea? You know, now that I think about it, he might have actually suggested that we get married. I think my response was something like, “Let’s take this one step at a time.” Thus we are combining households.

I’m just over 30 and most women my age would be thrilled at a proposal. I mean, I do love him, but I really want my marriage to last. How can I be sure he’s the right one? How does one know? What are the sure-fire signs? He was happy, healthy, handsome and had a good job. “What the heck are you looking for?” asks my friend, Joan. She makes me laugh when she says, “I can’t find a guy to meet my one exacting requirement - that he likes me back.”

My parents had met him and adored him. My step-father, who rarely dished out advice, took me aside one day and said, “He’s a good man. If this relationship doesn’t work out, it’s gonna be on you.”

So, here we are going through our stuff, deciding what to keep, what to sell. The selling on Craigslist was his idea. “We can start saving for a downpayment on a house,” he said. Everything we owned suddenly had a price tag attached to it. He’s not cheap exactly, but he’s definitely conservative with his spending and saving. I’m the opposite. You see what I mean?

My soon to be live-in-boyfriend's car was much newer than mine. Will we keep both cars? His response was that he could easily switch to using transit for work and I could drive his car. “Besides,” he laughed “I’ve been worried about you driving that eggbeater of yours.” The joke being that my beat-up car was powered by an old-fashioned, hand-cranked, rotary eggbeater.

And then we came across the extra window air conditioner. At my workplace people post wanted/for sale notices and I’d happened to notice that someone had posted a request from a needy senior citizen looking for a used air conditioner. The note mentioned that it would be necessary for the donor to deliver and install the air conditioner. I posed this to my boyfriend and saw his brow furrow. “Well, I was hoping we could get a good price for this unit...” “Oh, for goodness sake,” I replied rather crisply “money isn’t everything. He quickly acquiesced. 

One week later on a busy Saturday afternoon my boyfriend carried the air conditioner to Charles' 3rd floor apartment. Charles was about 85 and lived in a small studio crammed with his possessions. Charles showed us the window where he wanted the unit installed. My boyfriend went to work, talking with Charles the whole time. I don’t even remember what they were talking about, only that they occasionally laughed. The reason I don’t remember, is that in the light from the window, my boyfriend began to morph. Remember, I said he was handsome. But now as I watched him lift the air conditioner into place and carefully install it, securing it well to the window frame, he looked different. Was it the sunlight which backlit him, or did he have a halo? I don’t know, but suddenly he looked beatific. Like what I’d picture in my mind that Michael the Archangel might look like. Had I stopped breathing? I shook my head to clear it. Yeah but, there’s his tightfistedness, I thought to myself. I know he wants to buy a house and all, but still...

We were driving home, when he turned to me and said, “Let’s go take a look at our self-storage unit. I bet there’s some more stuff we could give to Charles or somebody in need” 

learning to love, learning to give,

yearning to love, yearning to give...

A Delicious Tale


It wasn’t just her two words, but it was the way she said them.

I’d spent most of the day hanging out with her. It was what I’d call a “delicious” day. We’d gone to the art museum in the morning, lunched together at a hip little downtown cafe, gone back to her place and laughed, talked and joked around for a couple of hours. But, now I had this nagging thought that I needed to get a move on. I knew my spouse would be home from work soon and expecting me to be there for dinner. So, I said, “Well, I’d better get going.”

Like I said, it wasn’t just the two words she chose, but the way she delivered them. As the words came out of her mouth, her whole body drooped, as if she were air-filled and someone had just stuck a pin in her. Her head slumped, her shoulders drooped and her arms and hands  dangled in front of her torso.

“Well, I’d better get going.”

“Oh, darn!” replied my granddaughter.