It's hard to say goodbye to the last of a group of brothers who figured so much in our country's history during my lifetime. The final Kennedy brother, the baby brother, has gone from this life and history. The way I shall remember him is as a man who made mistakes in his early years and spent the rest of his life working to make up for those mistakes. Everything he has done from his seat in the Senate was to help his fellow man woman and child, and to make this country a better place in which to live for all of us. His personal life was not a happy one, but he did not whine about it, and probably worked longer and harder than anyone else in Congress for this country and its people, sitting in the back of the room where he started, never pushing to the front as the other Congresspeople did. He always tried to get people to work together for the betterment of man, eschewing the usual pettiness of minor legislators. Teddy tried for consensus, but only if it meant that the country was being served well by that consensus. He worked for the best for all of us.
I shall miss that booming voice, the brilliant smile, and the good will of a great man who tried so hard to help those who often had no other voice to help them. Goodbye Teddy, in your own way you were the great one in your family and I fear you will never be replaced. A hard thing to say in this cold, sad world that now needs you more than ever.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Late Night Musings...
What I learned today: I am now told that the correct way to say aluminum is to use the English enunciation -- al-u-min-i-um, so I guess one must add the extra 'i' also. Strange. And what dictionary told us this... I have no idea. I guess I wasn't listening that intently.
I still cannot put any weight on my right foot without great pain ensuing. Have just about decided that it is a recurrence of the gout I had so many years ago, so I shall avoid all innards and all the other things one must eschew (have to look on the Internet and get a list) and hope it will stop stabbing me constantly and waking me up in the middle of the night. Most annoying. This would happen just when I was getting out and getting some exercise... now I shall have to begin again, if the stabbing stops. I found the elastic stockings from the knee ops, so I shall use them when I go out. I do want to go to some of the things in the S.F. Fringe Festival. Have been trying to find Joe Bullock as he usually knows all these people, but he has disappeared like all my friends seem to just when I need them.
At least I have written the bit I do with Mel for the Poetry Reading on Aug.25 in Yerba Buena Gardens... and the new 'Health Care' nursery rhyme for same. Hard to write when in pain. I do hope it is gone before Labour Day weekend and the 3-Day Novel Writing Contest, as I am determined to enter that this year. Which reminds me... I had better fill out the entry form, write them a check and get it in. Then I will surely write. So, off to bed now so I can get up early and get all the other stuff done -- letters to kidlets and clear out all the pileups of unopened and unread mail, both snail and emails -- too damned many of both for one person to handle. I need a secretary again... or a 'wife' or a bonfire... or perhaps all three.
Today I received something in the mail I have been wanting for a long time... of course, the mail people ran over it with a truck and broke the case, but the CD is OK, I'm pretty sure. It's a copy of Lee Wiley's "West of the Moon" album. Oh, if only I had that voice. She could slide from note to note like no one ever has... her phrasing is astounding, and that soft, almost Memphis accent, backed by some of my old Dixieland buddies from NYC... perfect. I'll listen to the whole thing tomorrow and feel like I'm back in New York. This is the album that all the musicians love... me too, me too. The title song just knocks me out.
Having spent the day not only getting my poetry writing done, but also working on getting the word out on health care reform, I am very tired... and so to bed... but before I leave, a quote of Mel Books' from an old favorite film, "The Twelve Chairs": "Hope for the best, expect the woist!"
I still cannot put any weight on my right foot without great pain ensuing. Have just about decided that it is a recurrence of the gout I had so many years ago, so I shall avoid all innards and all the other things one must eschew (have to look on the Internet and get a list) and hope it will stop stabbing me constantly and waking me up in the middle of the night. Most annoying. This would happen just when I was getting out and getting some exercise... now I shall have to begin again, if the stabbing stops. I found the elastic stockings from the knee ops, so I shall use them when I go out. I do want to go to some of the things in the S.F. Fringe Festival. Have been trying to find Joe Bullock as he usually knows all these people, but he has disappeared like all my friends seem to just when I need them.
At least I have written the bit I do with Mel for the Poetry Reading on Aug.25 in Yerba Buena Gardens... and the new 'Health Care' nursery rhyme for same. Hard to write when in pain. I do hope it is gone before Labour Day weekend and the 3-Day Novel Writing Contest, as I am determined to enter that this year. Which reminds me... I had better fill out the entry form, write them a check and get it in. Then I will surely write. So, off to bed now so I can get up early and get all the other stuff done -- letters to kidlets and clear out all the pileups of unopened and unread mail, both snail and emails -- too damned many of both for one person to handle. I need a secretary again... or a 'wife' or a bonfire... or perhaps all three.
Today I received something in the mail I have been wanting for a long time... of course, the mail people ran over it with a truck and broke the case, but the CD is OK, I'm pretty sure. It's a copy of Lee Wiley's "West of the Moon" album. Oh, if only I had that voice. She could slide from note to note like no one ever has... her phrasing is astounding, and that soft, almost Memphis accent, backed by some of my old Dixieland buddies from NYC... perfect. I'll listen to the whole thing tomorrow and feel like I'm back in New York. This is the album that all the musicians love... me too, me too. The title song just knocks me out.
Having spent the day not only getting my poetry writing done, but also working on getting the word out on health care reform, I am very tired... and so to bed... but before I leave, a quote of Mel Books' from an old favorite film, "The Twelve Chairs": "Hope for the best, expect the woist!"
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Yeah, I'm STRONGER...
I keep telling my kids and all my young friends... don't get old. Well, I'm telling y'all IN SPADES tonight. I was doing as I was told, lying down with the foot up on a pillow, so what happened? The damned foot started stabbing me with pain, which it continues to do now, although it has let up a bit... I got up, as, why should I lie there and suffer, why not get up and suffer a little more... hell, I can take it... Oprah just started to tell me "YOU'RE STRONGER THAN YOU KNOW...How to tap into your true power and really make it work for you." Well, at least that's her word for the day in her HUGE and getting huger magazine "O." Jeeze, "Newsweek" is hurting for money, the ad revenue goes down and down for all the decent little mags like 'Atlantic' and 'Harpers'... and "O" is heavier every month (as is "Vogue," "Vanity Fair," etc.) and has more ads than any of them. Is this what this country has come to... a bunch of dippy women buying makeup and $500 a pair shoes, and what Oprah considers a nice little bargain of a dress for only $895. Here's an example of one of the 'advisors' pages on what YOU can buy that will make all the other ladies sit up and take notice: Versace glasses, $264, NARS lipstick $24, a cute little Smartcar for $11,990, Ralph Lauren Home 'throw' Blanket, $1,795, Marni skirt, $720, Orla Kiely case for your ipod, $298, Orla Kiely coat $699...my god, what bargains!!! Oprah, maybe you had better quit, I think I just spent my entire income for the year, and I didn't even get the iPod to put in that cheap little case!! Well, thank goodness, the Salvation Army is having its 50% off everything in the store this weekend. Not that my foot will allow me to go to the sale, but I can DREAM can't I?
Yep, getting old and being broke gets to be less and less fun when you can't put any weight on your foot. Well, you can still laugh once in awhile... I was on the phone with my friend Pat yesterday, and when she asked what I was doing, I said, "I'm just lying here with my feet in the air..." and then started laughing, as did she, at what I was saying. "Only problem is," I said, "I'm not having any fun..." and I imagine the picture going on in her head was probably the same as in mine. (OK, Whitney, if you don't like the tack this is taking, go read someone else's blog...) To continue: it gets harder and harder to be 'alone' as one gets older. Thank god I have Elvira and Anastasia and Ana, at least for a few hours, or perhaps until the governator decides to take them away from me so that he doesn't have to tax any of his wealthy friends.
Caretakers are already disappearing, and I fear that if I can simply move mine might be snatched away, too. I sure hope not, as I get the feeling that the reason the foot is biting me now is because I kept having to get up and either find things for the Elvira substitute I had today, or show her for the third or fourth time, how to work the 1-cup button on the microwave. Yes Oprap, I am stronger than I know...just hand me the cup and I'll do it myself! I made a typo on Oprah, but I kinda like it, so it will stay. Now here I sit alone, praying that Elvira comes back tomorrow...she knows where everything is, what I like to eat, how to...face it, do everything....she and Ana both.
Barry, wherever you are... dead and buried up there in Sonoma... I find myself missing you terribly. If you were here, you might be lying with your head in my lap, laughing at me and my complaining. That's how I remember you the best... fighting sleep and asking me a million questions... right now you would simply sit up, fold me in your arms and kiss me gently and so sweetly to shut me up... kind of a 'kiss and make it better' one. You were the best kisser, Barry... no, I take it back, Kirk was the best kisser, and yet he, like you, deserted me when he was having problems. The two loves of my life... my two love-at-first-sights... one at the beginning of my life, the other at the end... and how I miss them both. Of course, the first died young, but the second will probably outlive us all, up in the wilds of Or-re-gun. Funny, I had the same experience with both of them... an evening of questions back and forth... both of us talking fast to get it all in... followed by a long, long, wonderful kiss, whispers of how we loved each other, then out the door with calls of 'next time...next time..." and when 'next time' came, after what seemed forever... the flying together like magnets for a repeat of that kiss. Ah, an hello kiss can be even better than a goodbye one... and they were. So the aloneness swirls around my head as the foot quiets down and stops biting so severly. I guess I did just get it off my mind... practice breathing Peggy like Les told you to when Whitney wouldn't make her appearance in this world almost a month late... or as Nancy tells us to the breathe in the poetry before our group meeting... or as I have been told to do for meditation... can't fool me, it's all to get your mind off your pain or your problems, or your aloneness... I can do that deep breathing until the cows come home... DAMN, the pain just stopped. Wow. Maybe it does work! So I guess I had better hie me off to bed before it starts up again. Sylvia will give me her version of the 'kiss and make it better'... she'll lie on top of me and keep me warm. Hey, I'm not alone... I have a spoiled rotten Ms.Katt, Ms. Sylvia Katt stretched across my body and purring in my ear. What the hell more do I need!
Yep, getting old and being broke gets to be less and less fun when you can't put any weight on your foot. Well, you can still laugh once in awhile... I was on the phone with my friend Pat yesterday, and when she asked what I was doing, I said, "I'm just lying here with my feet in the air..." and then started laughing, as did she, at what I was saying. "Only problem is," I said, "I'm not having any fun..." and I imagine the picture going on in her head was probably the same as in mine. (OK, Whitney, if you don't like the tack this is taking, go read someone else's blog...) To continue: it gets harder and harder to be 'alone' as one gets older. Thank god I have Elvira and Anastasia and Ana, at least for a few hours, or perhaps until the governator decides to take them away from me so that he doesn't have to tax any of his wealthy friends.
Caretakers are already disappearing, and I fear that if I can simply move mine might be snatched away, too. I sure hope not, as I get the feeling that the reason the foot is biting me now is because I kept having to get up and either find things for the Elvira substitute I had today, or show her for the third or fourth time, how to work the 1-cup button on the microwave. Yes Oprap, I am stronger than I know...just hand me the cup and I'll do it myself! I made a typo on Oprah, but I kinda like it, so it will stay. Now here I sit alone, praying that Elvira comes back tomorrow...she knows where everything is, what I like to eat, how to...face it, do everything....she and Ana both.
Barry, wherever you are... dead and buried up there in Sonoma... I find myself missing you terribly. If you were here, you might be lying with your head in my lap, laughing at me and my complaining. That's how I remember you the best... fighting sleep and asking me a million questions... right now you would simply sit up, fold me in your arms and kiss me gently and so sweetly to shut me up... kind of a 'kiss and make it better' one. You were the best kisser, Barry... no, I take it back, Kirk was the best kisser, and yet he, like you, deserted me when he was having problems. The two loves of my life... my two love-at-first-sights... one at the beginning of my life, the other at the end... and how I miss them both. Of course, the first died young, but the second will probably outlive us all, up in the wilds of Or-re-gun. Funny, I had the same experience with both of them... an evening of questions back and forth... both of us talking fast to get it all in... followed by a long, long, wonderful kiss, whispers of how we loved each other, then out the door with calls of 'next time...next time..." and when 'next time' came, after what seemed forever... the flying together like magnets for a repeat of that kiss. Ah, an hello kiss can be even better than a goodbye one... and they were. So the aloneness swirls around my head as the foot quiets down and stops biting so severly. I guess I did just get it off my mind... practice breathing Peggy like Les told you to when Whitney wouldn't make her appearance in this world almost a month late... or as Nancy tells us to the breathe in the poetry before our group meeting... or as I have been told to do for meditation... can't fool me, it's all to get your mind off your pain or your problems, or your aloneness... I can do that deep breathing until the cows come home... DAMN, the pain just stopped. Wow. Maybe it does work! So I guess I had better hie me off to bed before it starts up again. Sylvia will give me her version of the 'kiss and make it better'... she'll lie on top of me and keep me warm. Hey, I'm not alone... I have a spoiled rotten Ms.Katt, Ms. Sylvia Katt stretched across my body and purring in my ear. What the hell more do I need!
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Help, HELP!!
Ah, help me oh great Buddha... or someone, anyone... for I seem to have succumbed (perhaps it was the drugs - no, not that kind -- pain pills for my foot... puleese!) to the cyber-devils.
Connie, it's all your fault. I started with something as simple as getting myself on Facebook... so great to find all the relatives there, along with Connie and other old friends. Now I discover that I am on almost anything you can get on... here, well, I've had this blog for a few months... and on Hub and Vox, whatever they are... and constant nice little places that are dying to take my money for stuff I WANT... not need... and places to sign up to win cruises... or new kitchens... or big money... or... And I'm on several writing sites that I haven't time to look at... can you say 'The Red Room...?' or 'Pandalous' or is that it?... etc. Whatever... they do come up all the time, asking where I am... I don't KNOW where I am... but I manage to spend so much time sitting in front of this cursed computer that I don't get a lot of exercise, and rarely get anything important done. Now Connie, you want me on SKYPE? OK...I'm on, only one little problem -- I cannot seem to figure out how to get my voice on there...oh, that's me, but no sound.
At the moment, in case anyone besides me ever reads this bunch of ........ I am on my way to bed, having taken my pain pill so I can sleep, with my injured (?) foot, ankle, leg, whatever on a pillow -- and on the way to the doctor tomorrow so that she can take a look at 'it' to see if she can figure why I cannot put any weight on the foot without feeling like I am walking on hot bricks, and why now, all of a sudden, the ankle has a swelling at the front of my leg.
Oh, great Buddha, since you are the only one whom I think makes any sense in the 'religious community' -- do me a favor and quit picking on me. I haven't done anything terribly bad of late, and I don't think I deserve all this pain and swelling. Make nice and make it all go away and give me back my good health....but wait until after Liz, my doctor sees that it really has happened, as uaually, once I get a chance to go and see her, the symptoms are gone and I'm sure she thinks I made it all up. (Then it comes back double the next day -- how unfair can you get!) Puleese, make it all better! Thank you dear Buddha... I shall spread the word of your kindness, if you just, for once, HELP!!!
Connie, it's all your fault. I started with something as simple as getting myself on Facebook... so great to find all the relatives there, along with Connie and other old friends. Now I discover that I am on almost anything you can get on... here, well, I've had this blog for a few months... and on Hub and Vox, whatever they are... and constant nice little places that are dying to take my money for stuff I WANT... not need... and places to sign up to win cruises... or new kitchens... or big money... or... And I'm on several writing sites that I haven't time to look at... can you say 'The Red Room...?' or 'Pandalous' or is that it?... etc. Whatever... they do come up all the time, asking where I am... I don't KNOW where I am... but I manage to spend so much time sitting in front of this cursed computer that I don't get a lot of exercise, and rarely get anything important done. Now Connie, you want me on SKYPE? OK...I'm on, only one little problem -- I cannot seem to figure out how to get my voice on there...oh, that's me, but no sound.
At the moment, in case anyone besides me ever reads this bunch of ........ I am on my way to bed, having taken my pain pill so I can sleep, with my injured (?) foot, ankle, leg, whatever on a pillow -- and on the way to the doctor tomorrow so that she can take a look at 'it' to see if she can figure why I cannot put any weight on the foot without feeling like I am walking on hot bricks, and why now, all of a sudden, the ankle has a swelling at the front of my leg.
Oh, great Buddha, since you are the only one whom I think makes any sense in the 'religious community' -- do me a favor and quit picking on me. I haven't done anything terribly bad of late, and I don't think I deserve all this pain and swelling. Make nice and make it all go away and give me back my good health....but wait until after Liz, my doctor sees that it really has happened, as uaually, once I get a chance to go and see her, the symptoms are gone and I'm sure she thinks I made it all up. (Then it comes back double the next day -- how unfair can you get!) Puleese, make it all better! Thank you dear Buddha... I shall spread the word of your kindness, if you just, for once, HELP!!!
Sunday, August 9, 2009
"But I NEED it!"
The quote above is from Mark, aged from around four up... Elvira and I have a great little comedy act going using those words. I told her about Mark, usually the perfect child, when he really wanted something, his cry was 'But I NEED it!" The answer, of course, is "NO, you WANT it!" or the actual truth. So my cry these days goes out to unhearing and uncaring ears... "Damn, I NEED it." Silly me, I am suffering from a lack of give-and-take that I have had for nine long years with that miserable deserter, Kirk. I got used to getting a daily letter full of love and understanding and bright, intelligent conversation about likes and dislikes, interesting tidbits about everything...always something one could get one's teeth into and answer in much the same way it was given, and give back something with which to do the same. God...does that make any sense at all, even to me? What was the charm...perhaps just two crazy minds full of trivia...but always written with love and good humour. And then, as my life continued on in much the same easy, even manner, his completely fell apart and I guess he simply fell back on the whole pack of people he had supported all the years in the past, who never gave a damn about him, but still needed him for support. I didn't need him for support physically, but, oh, my mind, heart and head sure did and I guess always will. He was one of a kind -- sweet, gentle, so bright, and a someone who could have finished my sentences for me. I loved his long, strong arms around me, yes, but I loved the words that flowed from that capacious brain down through those long fingers into the computer even more. He was my brick, my Lancelot, my lover, my friend, and the reality that he is gone is almost beyond comprehension. So, is it any wonder that I say, I NEED it and mean I WANT it back...or even a pale copy might be nice......sure.
Cri-men-ettly (what is that from?...where did I learn it?) Barry and Kirk can't be the only people on this earth with whom I can have a mind-meld, can they? When we were together, we never shut up...the conversation was fast and furious....well so was the sex....but it was the constant "me too, me too, me too," that was the most fascinating. To be able to finish the last half of a favorite quotation, to the recognition of a poetry style...to...to I suppose just knowing that the 'other' KNEW what you were talking about. Granted, I shall never see another Barry race across the room, thrown himself at my feet, kiss my hand and say, "Hi, I'm Barry, who are you?" At my age, the poor guy coouldn't get up off the floor again... but there MUST be more than two others in this huge population who know what I am talking about. Maybe not, maybe I have worn out my welcome. However, once I get past the novel writing contest, perhaps I shall try another 'personals ad.' God I hate even the sound of that! But this time, maybe to someone FAR, FAR away...just to write to...never to get in the least involved with...never to 'get hurt' you mean, don't you? Yeah!
So, back to the drawing board. But this time, I am really getting busy and practicing my craft, so to speak, for the big 3-Day Novel Writing Contest. I have three 'ideas' this year, which is more than ever before, as in previous years I simply started writing, not even knowing where I might be going. Had to scrap a whole half day of stuff one year...dumb idea. I've been gearing up by writing little stories for my book about Jessie (mother), who was a great source of stories and I am finally getting them down on paper (well, 'on computer'), a good way to get the old mind going. Wrote three last night late, and will write more tonight. I find that I write best after around 3 pm. However, I shall get plenty of sleep and manage to eat real meals during the 3-Day, I always do, and can still get well over 100 pages of writing done. I do wish I could remember some dreams right now, as they can be my best source for fiction. I tend to dream movies in full color, and often with known 'stars.' I used one of my dreams for a 3-Day novel, and I thought it was pretty good...but lacked the swearing they seem to love. Those Canadians... you never know. And I always found them a bit stiff. Not in their writing, I guess.
Time for dinner. I had best get with it. I shall make myself a nice little potato salad with LOTS of celery (still loaded with that) and some purple onion. Someone put a bowl of cut onion in my fridge, without a cover! Yuk! I do hope everything doesn't smell of onion now. Retraining will be in order this next week! My foot is still killing me to walk on, but I must get used to it, if not over it, as I cannot just sit here with it 'up.' Onward and upward.....ah, well......
Cri-men-ettly (what is that from?...where did I learn it?) Barry and Kirk can't be the only people on this earth with whom I can have a mind-meld, can they? When we were together, we never shut up...the conversation was fast and furious....well so was the sex....but it was the constant "me too, me too, me too," that was the most fascinating. To be able to finish the last half of a favorite quotation, to the recognition of a poetry style...to...to I suppose just knowing that the 'other' KNEW what you were talking about. Granted, I shall never see another Barry race across the room, thrown himself at my feet, kiss my hand and say, "Hi, I'm Barry, who are you?" At my age, the poor guy coouldn't get up off the floor again... but there MUST be more than two others in this huge population who know what I am talking about. Maybe not, maybe I have worn out my welcome. However, once I get past the novel writing contest, perhaps I shall try another 'personals ad.' God I hate even the sound of that! But this time, maybe to someone FAR, FAR away...just to write to...never to get in the least involved with...never to 'get hurt' you mean, don't you? Yeah!
So, back to the drawing board. But this time, I am really getting busy and practicing my craft, so to speak, for the big 3-Day Novel Writing Contest. I have three 'ideas' this year, which is more than ever before, as in previous years I simply started writing, not even knowing where I might be going. Had to scrap a whole half day of stuff one year...dumb idea. I've been gearing up by writing little stories for my book about Jessie (mother), who was a great source of stories and I am finally getting them down on paper (well, 'on computer'), a good way to get the old mind going. Wrote three last night late, and will write more tonight. I find that I write best after around 3 pm. However, I shall get plenty of sleep and manage to eat real meals during the 3-Day, I always do, and can still get well over 100 pages of writing done. I do wish I could remember some dreams right now, as they can be my best source for fiction. I tend to dream movies in full color, and often with known 'stars.' I used one of my dreams for a 3-Day novel, and I thought it was pretty good...but lacked the swearing they seem to love. Those Canadians... you never know. And I always found them a bit stiff. Not in their writing, I guess.
Time for dinner. I had best get with it. I shall make myself a nice little potato salad with LOTS of celery (still loaded with that) and some purple onion. Someone put a bowl of cut onion in my fridge, without a cover! Yuk! I do hope everything doesn't smell of onion now. Retraining will be in order this next week! My foot is still killing me to walk on, but I must get used to it, if not over it, as I cannot just sit here with it 'up.' Onward and upward.....ah, well......
Friday, August 7, 2009
Forget goodnight.....
I got carried, yes, carried away.... Love that song, and now I am awake with my right foot throbbing away, so I read something I had dumped on my desktop to use in writing, and it made me angry enough -- again -- to stay up awhile and write about it.
But first -- I do not understand the people in this country who think we should keep on breeding and having More and MORE children. I have long been in favor of the Zero Population Growth people who say, "Have ONE child for each, then knock it off." I don't care how many times people tell me that we have a huge country and room enough for millions more....IT IS NOT TRUE. We are already short of water for everyone and there are children STARVING in YOUR country...that's MY country, too, and I don't like to see children starve!!! Nor adults doing the same. I get really sick of people saying, "Well, it's OK for people like the Kennedys to have lots of children, they can afford them." NO, No, No, they simply are taking the food out of the mouths of the children who do not have their money to get it. I used up all of my money getting my first knee replaced even waiting in pain until my Medicare kicked in -- (well, not all of my money...my ex managed to trot most of that off to Aruba and gamble it away) AND, has anyone really looked at how easy it would be to pay for decent health care, IF we didn't have to PAY BIG BUCKS FOR SALARIES AND NONSENSE to the INSURANCE COMPANY EXECUTIVES, and pay for all those big buildings they love to put their names on??? Look at this -- I didn't MAKE these figures up (as people like Baucus does -- after all, he has to get a few bucks from the Insurance Companies doesn't he) (he should have been recused from serving on that committee, as he HAS interests in health care firms)...they have to 'support' all those adorable Senators and Congressmen/women, so they will listen to THEIR SIDE (BIG BUCKS side). These figures came from the U.S. Census Bureau...look them up yourselves.
Population, U.S. 304,059.784 -- July, 2008 (oh, god, how many since??)
Population over 18, including over 65 = 217,800,000
Now look at it this way. If everyone in the U.S. over 18 paid $25.00 a month for health care (and that is surely a helluva lot LESS than any of us, including seniors, pay) the government would have $5,445,000.000.00 each MONTH, or $65,340,000,000.00 by the end of each year. THAT'S SIXTY-FIVE and a HALF TRILLION DOLLARS, people. I think that might be a good start toward a better health care system, don't you? Even those greedy, rotten doctors who are only in it for the money might want to get into that system, instead of being a high priced 'special entity' -- right?
Now let me tell you, the Canadians send their government $47.00 a month for their ‘free health care,’ which I might add, I have found is a lot better than what most people get in this country and pay a LOT more for.
(My prime example of the horrors of the ins. co. systems in this country is my daughter, who paid in to ‘the best health insurance in the country’ until she had breast cancer. Then had to go back to work a couple of weeks after the operations (two, as the stupid doctor left a bit in) because she couldn’t take the time off with NO pay, and she had to pay $30,000. as ‘her share’ of the cost of operations and the chemo and radiation they insisted she have. She WORKED to pay for this WHILE SHE WAS STILL having chemo and radiation. What a GREAT HEALTH CARE SYSTEM(S) we have in this country!!!)
And don't tell me to go back where I came from, some of you charming repubs...my family came to this country (and BUILT IT FOR YOU) in 1635.
But first -- I do not understand the people in this country who think we should keep on breeding and having More and MORE children. I have long been in favor of the Zero Population Growth people who say, "Have ONE child for each, then knock it off." I don't care how many times people tell me that we have a huge country and room enough for millions more....IT IS NOT TRUE. We are already short of water for everyone and there are children STARVING in YOUR country...that's MY country, too, and I don't like to see children starve!!! Nor adults doing the same. I get really sick of people saying, "Well, it's OK for people like the Kennedys to have lots of children, they can afford them." NO, No, No, they simply are taking the food out of the mouths of the children who do not have their money to get it. I used up all of my money getting my first knee replaced even waiting in pain until my Medicare kicked in -- (well, not all of my money...my ex managed to trot most of that off to Aruba and gamble it away) AND, has anyone really looked at how easy it would be to pay for decent health care, IF we didn't have to PAY BIG BUCKS FOR SALARIES AND NONSENSE to the INSURANCE COMPANY EXECUTIVES, and pay for all those big buildings they love to put their names on??? Look at this -- I didn't MAKE these figures up (as people like Baucus does -- after all, he has to get a few bucks from the Insurance Companies doesn't he) (he should have been recused from serving on that committee, as he HAS interests in health care firms)...they have to 'support' all those adorable Senators and Congressmen/women, so they will listen to THEIR SIDE (BIG BUCKS side). These figures came from the U.S. Census Bureau...look them up yourselves.
Population, U.S. 304,059.784 -- July, 2008 (oh, god, how many since??)
Population over 18, including over 65 = 217,800,000
Now look at it this way. If everyone in the U.S. over 18 paid $25.00 a month for health care (and that is surely a helluva lot LESS than any of us, including seniors, pay) the government would have $5,445,000.000.00 each MONTH, or $65,340,000,000.00 by the end of each year. THAT'S SIXTY-FIVE and a HALF TRILLION DOLLARS, people. I think that might be a good start toward a better health care system, don't you? Even those greedy, rotten doctors who are only in it for the money might want to get into that system, instead of being a high priced 'special entity' -- right?
Now let me tell you, the Canadians send their government $47.00 a month for their ‘free health care,’ which I might add, I have found is a lot better than what most people get in this country and pay a LOT more for.
(My prime example of the horrors of the ins. co. systems in this country is my daughter, who paid in to ‘the best health insurance in the country’ until she had breast cancer. Then had to go back to work a couple of weeks after the operations (two, as the stupid doctor left a bit in) because she couldn’t take the time off with NO pay, and she had to pay $30,000. as ‘her share’ of the cost of operations and the chemo and radiation they insisted she have. She WORKED to pay for this WHILE SHE WAS STILL having chemo and radiation. What a GREAT HEALTH CARE SYSTEM(S) we have in this country!!!)
And don't tell me to go back where I came from, some of you charming repubs...my family came to this country (and BUILT IT FOR YOU) in 1635.
Thursday, August 6, 2009
NO MORE Oxycodone or Perco anything for me!!!
Jeeze....will I ever WAKE UP! Being a good little patient, I took the pills I was sent home with and slept like a log last night. Elvira came at 1:00 pm and I was still sleeping. Got up, limped and hopped in here, had coffee, strawberries and cottage cheese and pill, tried to think enough to write a bit and finally limped/hopped back to bed, falling asleep to the sound of E.vacuuming. Woke up around 6:00, managed to cook potatoes and carrots E had cut up for me, ate them with a bit of chicken, and again almost fell on the keyboard fast asleep. I think I did nod off a couple of times (well, I was listening to first BBC, then Fox online), and I haven't taken anymore pain pills, nor will I until I find out what the hell is wrong with me.
I need to wake up at least the brain, so that I can get started with an outline for my fourth try at the 3-Day Novel Writing Contest, which is coming soon, and I'd like to stay awake for that at least. Also have to write some new stuff for our poetry reading in Yerba Buena Gardens on August 15 at noon. Nancy likes to repeat stuff, I don't. I want ALL new. I'm also planning on writing a play for next year's Fringe Festival, if not before. Where is Joe Bullock when I need him? Have my cast (not one for my foot) lined up... friend Pat, little El-veer-a (unless she panics and runs) and Collie, if he will do it... if his poor foot recovers. He's limping worse than I am. Well, we'll get him a cast!
Ah, yes, I KNOW... I shall just get off here and go to bed and dream a 3-Day, as I have done in the past. Have to remember to throw in a few 'dirty' words. The ones that win are very earthy, so I have to 'clean down' my style I guess. Now, before I manage to fall on my face on the way to bed, I shall bid you goodnight -- is anyone really there? Goodnight air......ah, well.......
I need to wake up at least the brain, so that I can get started with an outline for my fourth try at the 3-Day Novel Writing Contest, which is coming soon, and I'd like to stay awake for that at least. Also have to write some new stuff for our poetry reading in Yerba Buena Gardens on August 15 at noon. Nancy likes to repeat stuff, I don't. I want ALL new. I'm also planning on writing a play for next year's Fringe Festival, if not before. Where is Joe Bullock when I need him? Have my cast (not one for my foot) lined up... friend Pat, little El-veer-a (unless she panics and runs) and Collie, if he will do it... if his poor foot recovers. He's limping worse than I am. Well, we'll get him a cast!
Ah, yes, I KNOW... I shall just get off here and go to bed and dream a 3-Day, as I have done in the past. Have to remember to throw in a few 'dirty' words. The ones that win are very earthy, so I have to 'clean down' my style I guess. Now, before I manage to fall on my face on the way to bed, I shall bid you goodnight -- is anyone really there? Goodnight air......ah, well.......
To Add Humor to Injury....
Have to add this little bit: The last time I went to the E.R. at Davies (I broke my nose on my 'office' chair with steel feet and cracked two ribs), the dear little doctor who took care of me, sewed up the nose gash and told me they can't do anything for a cracked rib but tell you not to laugh or cough, was named David Crockett. Hurt my ribs to laugh, he was right. Since I had forgotten to bring a friends phone number to get picked up, he gave me a sleeping pill and put me in an empty room.
This time, I just sprained the right foot (they think... as usual), but I got my Percoset to keep down the pain... and took a cab home alone. As I looked at the prescription today when I was sending Anstasia over to Walgreen's, I finally found the name of the doctor who took care of me and wrote the prescription -- He is named Leif Eriksen. OK... so he is probably Danish (ends in 'sen'), but that's a pretty good pair of ER doctors to have... right? Next, Christopher Columbus?
Coincidence is ME, or perhaps US -- my sister Betty Rae's birthday is D-Day, my son Mark's is the day that JFK was shot, and mine... lovely day: 9/11.
This time, I just sprained the right foot (they think... as usual), but I got my Percoset to keep down the pain... and took a cab home alone. As I looked at the prescription today when I was sending Anstasia over to Walgreen's, I finally found the name of the doctor who took care of me and wrote the prescription -- He is named Leif Eriksen. OK... so he is probably Danish (ends in 'sen'), but that's a pretty good pair of ER doctors to have... right? Next, Christopher Columbus?
Coincidence is ME, or perhaps US -- my sister Betty Rae's birthday is D-Day, my son Mark's is the day that JFK was shot, and mine... lovely day: 9/11.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Go See This, plus yet another injury...
Here is one more great article to go and read:
http://www.alternet.org/media/141685/how_lou_dobbs_scared_rush_limbaugh_off_the_birther_story/
I loved it, and you also get a great clip from Jon Stewart. How scrumptious to have a sagacious man to cut down that bunch of ninnies over at the Faux Network, if it can be called a network... more like the low-class comedy bunch with no brains, a more turgid gang would be hard to find. I am glad that Jon and his whole group, particularly Colbert are there to watch them, so I don't have to.
Now about the INJURY! I did it again -- this time I jumped out of the shower (I MUST learn NOT to JUMP) and landed on my right (or 'good' foot), hearing a sound like one makes stepping on one of those clear plastic glasses. Wasn't a glass, though... it was my foot, obviously screaming at me. Since it didn't get red and swell to twice its size, as the left one had done when I tore the top tendon on the foot in half, I foolishly thought it might stop hurting shortly. It didn't... it also didn't swell a lot, although the arch got a bit puffy, and I couldn't stand on it, as it hurt like hell to bear any weight on it. So I sat, tried to get my doctor and waited for her to return my call. She was just a little sarcastic when I finally talked to her... "Call 911 and get over to Davies' Emergency Room... I can't do an x-ray over the phone, you know." Well, I didn't call 911, as I wasn't about to spend two or three hundred dollars, or whatever the going rate for ambulances is these days (DAMMIT.....get those STUPID 'conservative democrats' to get single payer, universal, DECENT health care -- oh, I forgot, they get decent health care, and they also get PAID BIG BUCKS by the lobbyists to keep the damned insurance companies collecting terrible amounts of money from all of us -- rant, rant, rant!!!).
So, deep breath, Peggy... I called a cab and went over to CPMC's Davies Campus, just up the hill from me (and a hospital I love as they have cared for me in the past), and the driver, a lovely man from Nigeria who thinks S.F. is TOO COLD most of the time -- boy it sure must be HOT in Nigeria, went in and told them to get a wheelchair for me. A nice little tiny Chinese woman finally managed to get me in... She said she loved the way my hair matched my outfit (I was wearing a lavender t-shirt and purple plaid pants) and then asked if I always matched my hair to my outfits. "No, dear, I'm not ready to dye daily" I said, "but most of my clothes are purple."
One thing I love about Davies... I simply gave them my name, signed the usual form and they pulled up my records, put me on a gurney and left me to read one of the Atlantic's I had thoughtfully thrown into a bag. Here's another good read: "Race Over?" by Marc Ambinder from the Jan/Feb 2009 THEATLANTIC.COM. I feel so justified... when I told someone I couldn't stand Tavis Smiley, he accused me of being a racist. NO, I am not, it has nothing to do with the color of his skin, it's his style, personality, etc. that I cannot stand. This article backed me up on that and a couple of other things, like how happy I am to KNOW that Barack Obama refused to pay a number of black 'preachers' to back him, and they turned to Hillary, who DID. Enough said!
After reading the article, I saw the E.R. doctor, then went to be x-rayed by a darling, TALL, slim young man who was extrodinarily gentle with my aching foot. I asked him if he was Swedish or Norwegian, as I thought the nurse had called him Olaf. He laughed and said, "No, my name is David Leibonowsky (or something similar), and I'm Polish/Russian/Lithowanian," and told me everyone in his family got biblical names... boring... and he wouldn't mind being an Olaf. As it turned out, he told me I hadn't broken anything in the foot... the other doctor concurred... they gave me a softer medical sandal to wear home, plus some Percoset to take tonight before going to bed (I got a couple earlier, so I have to wait a bit), and a prescription for more to get my gal to go after tomorrow.
So, I am to stay off my feet for a few days... they will call me if another doctor reads the x-rays and sees something significant (say that several times). My feeling is: why me, why me????? What did I do? Well, I guess I will now read all the rest of the Atlantics and Harpers I have piled up waiting for me to stop getting out and doing something like sitting in the sun. Well, I am teaching Ana to cook. I was given a big bunch of Swiss chard yesterday, so I sat here and typed a recipe for an omelet using it, an onion, a tomato, garlic and basil (all of which I had), then called out instructions as she chopped and cooked, and I had it for dinner before I left for the ER. It was DELICIOUS! And large enough to have the other half for lunch or dinner tomorrow, with a salad I will again call out instructions for to Anastasia, who comes to take care of me tomorrow. Gee, don't you all wish you lived in S.F., so you could have these lovely ladies take care of you when injured?
Just about time to take the next Percoset and get to bed. Sylvia Katt has already told me she is ready to lie on top of me and I should 'meow' come 'meow' on 'meow'...'GO MEOW TO MEOW BED.'
Ah, well...........
http://www.alternet.org/media/141685/how_lou_dobbs_scared_rush_limbaugh_off_the_birther_story/
I loved it, and you also get a great clip from Jon Stewart. How scrumptious to have a sagacious man to cut down that bunch of ninnies over at the Faux Network, if it can be called a network... more like the low-class comedy bunch with no brains, a more turgid gang would be hard to find. I am glad that Jon and his whole group, particularly Colbert are there to watch them, so I don't have to.
Now about the INJURY! I did it again -- this time I jumped out of the shower (I MUST learn NOT to JUMP) and landed on my right (or 'good' foot), hearing a sound like one makes stepping on one of those clear plastic glasses. Wasn't a glass, though... it was my foot, obviously screaming at me. Since it didn't get red and swell to twice its size, as the left one had done when I tore the top tendon on the foot in half, I foolishly thought it might stop hurting shortly. It didn't... it also didn't swell a lot, although the arch got a bit puffy, and I couldn't stand on it, as it hurt like hell to bear any weight on it. So I sat, tried to get my doctor and waited for her to return my call. She was just a little sarcastic when I finally talked to her... "Call 911 and get over to Davies' Emergency Room... I can't do an x-ray over the phone, you know." Well, I didn't call 911, as I wasn't about to spend two or three hundred dollars, or whatever the going rate for ambulances is these days (DAMMIT.....get those STUPID 'conservative democrats' to get single payer, universal, DECENT health care -- oh, I forgot, they get decent health care, and they also get PAID BIG BUCKS by the lobbyists to keep the damned insurance companies collecting terrible amounts of money from all of us -- rant, rant, rant!!!).
So, deep breath, Peggy... I called a cab and went over to CPMC's Davies Campus, just up the hill from me (and a hospital I love as they have cared for me in the past), and the driver, a lovely man from Nigeria who thinks S.F. is TOO COLD most of the time -- boy it sure must be HOT in Nigeria, went in and told them to get a wheelchair for me. A nice little tiny Chinese woman finally managed to get me in... She said she loved the way my hair matched my outfit (I was wearing a lavender t-shirt and purple plaid pants) and then asked if I always matched my hair to my outfits. "No, dear, I'm not ready to dye daily" I said, "but most of my clothes are purple."
One thing I love about Davies... I simply gave them my name, signed the usual form and they pulled up my records, put me on a gurney and left me to read one of the Atlantic's I had thoughtfully thrown into a bag. Here's another good read: "Race Over?" by Marc Ambinder from the Jan/Feb 2009 THEATLANTIC.COM. I feel so justified... when I told someone I couldn't stand Tavis Smiley, he accused me of being a racist. NO, I am not, it has nothing to do with the color of his skin, it's his style, personality, etc. that I cannot stand. This article backed me up on that and a couple of other things, like how happy I am to KNOW that Barack Obama refused to pay a number of black 'preachers' to back him, and they turned to Hillary, who DID. Enough said!
After reading the article, I saw the E.R. doctor, then went to be x-rayed by a darling, TALL, slim young man who was extrodinarily gentle with my aching foot. I asked him if he was Swedish or Norwegian, as I thought the nurse had called him Olaf. He laughed and said, "No, my name is David Leibonowsky (or something similar), and I'm Polish/Russian/Lithowanian," and told me everyone in his family got biblical names... boring... and he wouldn't mind being an Olaf. As it turned out, he told me I hadn't broken anything in the foot... the other doctor concurred... they gave me a softer medical sandal to wear home, plus some Percoset to take tonight before going to bed (I got a couple earlier, so I have to wait a bit), and a prescription for more to get my gal to go after tomorrow.
So, I am to stay off my feet for a few days... they will call me if another doctor reads the x-rays and sees something significant (say that several times). My feeling is: why me, why me????? What did I do? Well, I guess I will now read all the rest of the Atlantics and Harpers I have piled up waiting for me to stop getting out and doing something like sitting in the sun. Well, I am teaching Ana to cook. I was given a big bunch of Swiss chard yesterday, so I sat here and typed a recipe for an omelet using it, an onion, a tomato, garlic and basil (all of which I had), then called out instructions as she chopped and cooked, and I had it for dinner before I left for the ER. It was DELICIOUS! And large enough to have the other half for lunch or dinner tomorrow, with a salad I will again call out instructions for to Anastasia, who comes to take care of me tomorrow. Gee, don't you all wish you lived in S.F., so you could have these lovely ladies take care of you when injured?
Just about time to take the next Percoset and get to bed. Sylvia Katt has already told me she is ready to lie on top of me and I should 'meow' come 'meow' on 'meow'...'GO MEOW TO MEOW BED.'
Ah, well...........
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Food, Glorious Food......red for tomatoes
For those who do not know me, "Jessie" is my mother, who liked to be called Jessie!
Aha, I have found a wonderful kindred spirit once more in the NYTimes (a paper which cannot deliver a REAL copy of their paper to me, no matter how many times I have written to them, or spoken to them on the phone, about HOW TO GET INTO MY BUILDING...AND NOT LEAVE IT ‘AT THE DOOR.’ Jeeze, we have around five or six ‘doors’...which one guys? where? when? why? what? who? Well, be that as it may (and I have finally just said CANCEL! and I shall read it on my computer... which is not nearly as much fun as ‘in hand.’) back to the reason for this silly blogging for today.
I found a wonderful article in the ‘op-ed’ columnist’s listing by Michael Pollan (July 29, 2009), entitled “Out of the Kitchen, Onto the Couch.” (I adore all the op-ed people, next to the magazine, the best of NYTimes.) If you love food, admire Julia Child, or just want a really good read take a look at this long article:
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/08/02/magazine/02cooking-t.html?em
So many things he said struck me. I guess I am old enough to be in the ‘first wave’ of feminists, and I guess I missed where one was going to get out of the kitchen, as I have always loved to cook, and wasn’t going to let any feminist movement stop me. Or maybe it is just that my first ‘nurse,’ Jessie’s oft quoted, super-maid/housekeeper/nurse, Mary Phykos (I do not know the ‘real’ spelling, as I have just heard it pronounced that way. She was Checkoslovakian {damn, I cannot even spell that} so I probably have it completely wrong....the only Chezk?? in our building is really Polish, so she’s no help). Ye gods, what happened to that sentence?? Shall I now return to ‘be that as it may.....?’
Mary Phykos adored me. She met my parents at the car door as they came home from hospital with me, snatched me up, crying, “Little Poppa, little Poppa (I looked exactly like my father) and was loathe to give me up except during the times Jessie nursed me. Besides being smitten with her adorable charge, she was also a wonderful cook. Poor Daddy gained weight he never again managed to drop... going from being a very skinny young man to a plump one during Mary’s time with us. He spoke often in later years of her cooking, as did Jessie, always in glowing terms. She knew what a great chef she was, as one of her favourite expressions was (and I heard this from both my parents forever): “Mine Gott, how I can cooook!” I cannot tell you if she was as good as they say, but I’m convinced she imparted to me her love of food and cooking.
Well, they all did. Jessie never hired anyone who couldn’t take over the cooking chores from her Not that Jess couldn’t cook... hell no, she was a wonderful cook, inventive and knowledgeable about all aspects of that chore. She just didn’t want to do it. Jessie had better things to do with her life than being a slave to “a man, a house, a stove.” She was the ultimate feminist before anyone ever heard of Betty Friedan. Granted, she didn’t like to see ‘things’ around, but she always said, “I don’t mind a bit of dust, but will you PLEASE pick up your things and PUT THEM AWAY!” (She had a basket on the stairs always, called “the as-you basket,” meaning “As you go upstairs, take this with you and put the things AWAY.”)
So, to get back to what I was attempting to write about... we always had good cooks working for us. From the time I was a little kid, I stood on a chair beside the stove and I learned. I learned that a good cook NEVER measures, he/she simply picks up the pinch or the handful of what the particular dish needs, stirs several times, tastes, then either goes on with the rest of the dish, or throws in the amount needed and repeats. I learned ALL the different herbs and spices one could use and what dishes they went best with. I should say, I tasted and learned, for I got to taste, also, to see that the right amount was put in. I further learned to taste everything, (Jess insisted on this) whether I thought I’d like it or not. I’m still not fond of a lot of Southern food -- ‘sweetea,’ yuk; slimy anything, yuk; undercooked fried chicken, yuk; filet gumbo, yuk -- and a newer thing, seemingly worshiped by new Hispanic and Chinese chefs, cilantro, I cannot abide, it tastes like my grandmother’s attic smelled, and turns me off.
One of my favorite ‘teachers,’ however, did not work for us. A friend in Chicago named Mary Ann Boscarino had a mother who was raised in Italy, obviously somewhere below Rome, as her ‘gravy’ (as all the Italians I know call what we call ‘spaghetti sauce’) took hours to make. My friend Gus, who hailed from Tuscany insisted that this was terrible, as it should only take around an hour to make good gravy. I adore Italian food and wanted to learn, so Mrs.Boscarino said she would teach me. When I asked her for her recipe, her answer was, “What recipe? You just make it.” So I spent a week or two with my notebook at ready while she ‘just made it.’ I am now one of the best South of Rome Italian cooks I know. Actually, I watched and listened to Gus and I am also one of the best Tuscan cooks I know. I am particularly good at pasta primavera, although I do it my way, with a lot less calories. I go to the Farmer’s Market in the Civic Center, buy every kind of ‘peak of ripeness’ veggies I can find... tomatoes, soft and RED, little zucchini, both green and yellow, perfect green onions, the larger the better, etc., etc., everything at the look, feel and smell of perfection, and usually cheap, as who wants to take all that RIPE food back to the farm -- take them home, chop them up, mix a ‘gravy’ of my own concoction... couple of cups of yogurt, little honey to sweeten it up a bit, olive oil and some balsamic vinegar, put the veggies on top of well drained spaghetti or other pasta, pour on that gravy and feed it to guests... as I have, as usual, made too much for me and Sylvia, the cat to eat, and it does NOT last until tomorrow... it is for NOW.
Better than anything, from a dear little gal we had working for us in Pittsburgh, Lessie, I learned to make something out of almost nothing. My absent minded mother would sometimes forget to shop (she usually remembered, and even made out menus -- most of the time) and Lessie would turn out a magnificent dinner with leftovers and anything she could find in the cupboard. One of my father’s (and mine) favorites was a dish she made from leftover salad, something Jessie always told her to throw out as, “who would want all that wilted, dressing soaked stuff.” (Lessie NEVER threw out anything. She had grown up in a large, very poor family, where you used every scrap, particularly of food.) So, Lessie cooked up a bunch of potatoes from the larder, then added left-over salad from the night before that she had hidden in the back of the fridge from Jess. My father was so fond of Lessie’s invention that he told her always to make extra salad so that he could have it the next night. This, and the potatoes and carrots mashed together and liberally buttered, that Mary in Memphis used to make for me when I was a little kid, are my two “comfort foods” that I cook for myself when I am feeling blue and downhearted. I can eat them and hear both of those wonderful ladies saying, “Now eat your food, Paaaaiguy, or “Miss Peggy” in the case of Lessie, and cheer up... for as my sister Betty Rae once told me she became aware of when you became a “Miss” in the South, when she heard the term being used toward her oldest girl, Rebecca when she was thirteen, and I was past thirteen when Lessie came to work for us.
Goodness, this has been a long and roundabout way of mentioning that I really enjoyed reading that article about Julia Child, but while I was doing it, I also went out to the ktichen and whipped up a nice little snacky of my own devising. Lessie taught me NEVER to waste food, so I had to figure out a way to use up a LOT of celery I had been given (now WHO needs five bunchs of celery?) I have five bunchs of celery, so I cut up a LOT of little celery sticks... and I mean a lot... and stuck them in a tall jar full of water and ice cubes and put them into the fridge. I put several heaping tablespoons of peanut butter into a Chinese rice bowl (the kind real Chinese people get in front of them at a banquet, not a BIG bowl), added some Kosher terriyaki sauce (it’s what I had in the fridge) and some Dijon mustard (kept adding until taste was right -- it needed a ‘bite’ to it, and I am allergic to any kind of pepper, so mustard is my ‘bite’), threw in some mayo so I could stir it well (peanut butter is IMPOSSIBLE... watch a cat or dog with it!) and have been dipping and chewing all through this tale, going out to get more COLD celery sticks every now and then.) Well, I had to have something to eat or I’d have died of hunger with all the food- reading/writing.
Only problem: man, I miss Jessie... and Mary (my darling ‘Mammy’ from Memphis), and Ruby, and Lessie, and Essie and all my surrogate mothers from all those what are beginning to seem like hundreds of years these days. Thank heavens I live in San Francisco with a bad foot, bad leg and useless arm that cannot hold up anything over five pounds (Good God...do I HAVE to have ONE MORE replacement? My doctor, Liz Kantor refers to me as ‘the poster girl for the replacement crowd’) as they take care of their elders (and betters?) and I have Elvira (El-veer-a, please) and Ana to help me out, particularly with the ‘as-you’s) and Anastasia, the one who thinks she is a ‘companion,’ but does LOVE to do the shopping). YIKES... I have become Jessie -- except, I STILL am the best chef in the building. The others do their own cleaning, but either get food delivered (yuk!) or let ‘them’ do it. Not me, I shall cook until I cannot stand at the stove any longer, then rush to sit and rest my aching back and eat my own delicious cooking (diet, what diet? Well, Liz, I DO try. Good thing I am a good cook, and have the good sense NOT to buy whipping cream, cookies, etc., etc.)
Ah, well............. read the article!
Aha, I have found a wonderful kindred spirit once more in the NYTimes (a paper which cannot deliver a REAL copy of their paper to me, no matter how many times I have written to them, or spoken to them on the phone, about HOW TO GET INTO MY BUILDING...AND NOT LEAVE IT ‘AT THE DOOR.’ Jeeze, we have around five or six ‘doors’...which one guys? where? when? why? what? who? Well, be that as it may (and I have finally just said CANCEL! and I shall read it on my computer... which is not nearly as much fun as ‘in hand.’) back to the reason for this silly blogging for today.
I found a wonderful article in the ‘op-ed’ columnist’s listing by Michael Pollan (July 29, 2009), entitled “Out of the Kitchen, Onto the Couch.” (I adore all the op-ed people, next to the magazine, the best of NYTimes.) If you love food, admire Julia Child, or just want a really good read take a look at this long article:
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/08/02/magazine/02cooking-t.html?em
So many things he said struck me. I guess I am old enough to be in the ‘first wave’ of feminists, and I guess I missed where one was going to get out of the kitchen, as I have always loved to cook, and wasn’t going to let any feminist movement stop me. Or maybe it is just that my first ‘nurse,’ Jessie’s oft quoted, super-maid/housekeeper/nurse, Mary Phykos (I do not know the ‘real’ spelling, as I have just heard it pronounced that way. She was Checkoslovakian {damn, I cannot even spell that} so I probably have it completely wrong....the only Chezk?? in our building is really Polish, so she’s no help). Ye gods, what happened to that sentence?? Shall I now return to ‘be that as it may.....?’
Mary Phykos adored me. She met my parents at the car door as they came home from hospital with me, snatched me up, crying, “Little Poppa, little Poppa (I looked exactly like my father) and was loathe to give me up except during the times Jessie nursed me. Besides being smitten with her adorable charge, she was also a wonderful cook. Poor Daddy gained weight he never again managed to drop... going from being a very skinny young man to a plump one during Mary’s time with us. He spoke often in later years of her cooking, as did Jessie, always in glowing terms. She knew what a great chef she was, as one of her favourite expressions was (and I heard this from both my parents forever): “Mine Gott, how I can cooook!” I cannot tell you if she was as good as they say, but I’m convinced she imparted to me her love of food and cooking.
Well, they all did. Jessie never hired anyone who couldn’t take over the cooking chores from her Not that Jess couldn’t cook... hell no, she was a wonderful cook, inventive and knowledgeable about all aspects of that chore. She just didn’t want to do it. Jessie had better things to do with her life than being a slave to “a man, a house, a stove.” She was the ultimate feminist before anyone ever heard of Betty Friedan. Granted, she didn’t like to see ‘things’ around, but she always said, “I don’t mind a bit of dust, but will you PLEASE pick up your things and PUT THEM AWAY!” (She had a basket on the stairs always, called “the as-you basket,” meaning “As you go upstairs, take this with you and put the things AWAY.”)
So, to get back to what I was attempting to write about... we always had good cooks working for us. From the time I was a little kid, I stood on a chair beside the stove and I learned. I learned that a good cook NEVER measures, he/she simply picks up the pinch or the handful of what the particular dish needs, stirs several times, tastes, then either goes on with the rest of the dish, or throws in the amount needed and repeats. I learned ALL the different herbs and spices one could use and what dishes they went best with. I should say, I tasted and learned, for I got to taste, also, to see that the right amount was put in. I further learned to taste everything, (Jess insisted on this) whether I thought I’d like it or not. I’m still not fond of a lot of Southern food -- ‘sweetea,’ yuk; slimy anything, yuk; undercooked fried chicken, yuk; filet gumbo, yuk -- and a newer thing, seemingly worshiped by new Hispanic and Chinese chefs, cilantro, I cannot abide, it tastes like my grandmother’s attic smelled, and turns me off.
One of my favorite ‘teachers,’ however, did not work for us. A friend in Chicago named Mary Ann Boscarino had a mother who was raised in Italy, obviously somewhere below Rome, as her ‘gravy’ (as all the Italians I know call what we call ‘spaghetti sauce’) took hours to make. My friend Gus, who hailed from Tuscany insisted that this was terrible, as it should only take around an hour to make good gravy. I adore Italian food and wanted to learn, so Mrs.Boscarino said she would teach me. When I asked her for her recipe, her answer was, “What recipe? You just make it.” So I spent a week or two with my notebook at ready while she ‘just made it.’ I am now one of the best South of Rome Italian cooks I know. Actually, I watched and listened to Gus and I am also one of the best Tuscan cooks I know. I am particularly good at pasta primavera, although I do it my way, with a lot less calories. I go to the Farmer’s Market in the Civic Center, buy every kind of ‘peak of ripeness’ veggies I can find... tomatoes, soft and RED, little zucchini, both green and yellow, perfect green onions, the larger the better, etc., etc., everything at the look, feel and smell of perfection, and usually cheap, as who wants to take all that RIPE food back to the farm -- take them home, chop them up, mix a ‘gravy’ of my own concoction... couple of cups of yogurt, little honey to sweeten it up a bit, olive oil and some balsamic vinegar, put the veggies on top of well drained spaghetti or other pasta, pour on that gravy and feed it to guests... as I have, as usual, made too much for me and Sylvia, the cat to eat, and it does NOT last until tomorrow... it is for NOW.
Better than anything, from a dear little gal we had working for us in Pittsburgh, Lessie, I learned to make something out of almost nothing. My absent minded mother would sometimes forget to shop (she usually remembered, and even made out menus -- most of the time) and Lessie would turn out a magnificent dinner with leftovers and anything she could find in the cupboard. One of my father’s (and mine) favorites was a dish she made from leftover salad, something Jessie always told her to throw out as, “who would want all that wilted, dressing soaked stuff.” (Lessie NEVER threw out anything. She had grown up in a large, very poor family, where you used every scrap, particularly of food.) So, Lessie cooked up a bunch of potatoes from the larder, then added left-over salad from the night before that she had hidden in the back of the fridge from Jess. My father was so fond of Lessie’s invention that he told her always to make extra salad so that he could have it the next night. This, and the potatoes and carrots mashed together and liberally buttered, that Mary in Memphis used to make for me when I was a little kid, are my two “comfort foods” that I cook for myself when I am feeling blue and downhearted. I can eat them and hear both of those wonderful ladies saying, “Now eat your food, Paaaaiguy, or “Miss Peggy” in the case of Lessie, and cheer up... for as my sister Betty Rae once told me she became aware of when you became a “Miss” in the South, when she heard the term being used toward her oldest girl, Rebecca when she was thirteen, and I was past thirteen when Lessie came to work for us.
Goodness, this has been a long and roundabout way of mentioning that I really enjoyed reading that article about Julia Child, but while I was doing it, I also went out to the ktichen and whipped up a nice little snacky of my own devising. Lessie taught me NEVER to waste food, so I had to figure out a way to use up a LOT of celery I had been given (now WHO needs five bunchs of celery?) I have five bunchs of celery, so I cut up a LOT of little celery sticks... and I mean a lot... and stuck them in a tall jar full of water and ice cubes and put them into the fridge. I put several heaping tablespoons of peanut butter into a Chinese rice bowl (the kind real Chinese people get in front of them at a banquet, not a BIG bowl), added some Kosher terriyaki sauce (it’s what I had in the fridge) and some Dijon mustard (kept adding until taste was right -- it needed a ‘bite’ to it, and I am allergic to any kind of pepper, so mustard is my ‘bite’), threw in some mayo so I could stir it well (peanut butter is IMPOSSIBLE... watch a cat or dog with it!) and have been dipping and chewing all through this tale, going out to get more COLD celery sticks every now and then.) Well, I had to have something to eat or I’d have died of hunger with all the food- reading/writing.
Only problem: man, I miss Jessie... and Mary (my darling ‘Mammy’ from Memphis), and Ruby, and Lessie, and Essie and all my surrogate mothers from all those what are beginning to seem like hundreds of years these days. Thank heavens I live in San Francisco with a bad foot, bad leg and useless arm that cannot hold up anything over five pounds (Good God...do I HAVE to have ONE MORE replacement? My doctor, Liz Kantor refers to me as ‘the poster girl for the replacement crowd’) as they take care of their elders (and betters?) and I have Elvira (El-veer-a, please) and Ana to help me out, particularly with the ‘as-you’s) and Anastasia, the one who thinks she is a ‘companion,’ but does LOVE to do the shopping). YIKES... I have become Jessie -- except, I STILL am the best chef in the building. The others do their own cleaning, but either get food delivered (yuk!) or let ‘them’ do it. Not me, I shall cook until I cannot stand at the stove any longer, then rush to sit and rest my aching back and eat my own delicious cooking (diet, what diet? Well, Liz, I DO try. Good thing I am a good cook, and have the good sense NOT to buy whipping cream, cookies, etc., etc.)
Ah, well............. read the article!
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