
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Happy Anniversary my darling....

Sunday, April 17, 2011
Well, Hello there?
The gift shop in the Portland Jetport is in the gate area. It smells of a pleasant pine potpourri and is festooned with products from Maine. I’ve lived in Maine for over forty years, but still can be tempted to buy pine cone decorated candle holders or moose refrigerator magnets. It’s the same feeling that comes over me when I’m at a Disneyworld gift shop. That oven glove that looks like Mickey Mouse’s hand seems like a necessity and the Goofy clocks are to die for. Both of those items are totally out of place once they are in a home.
Because of the Philadelphia airport incident of August 2010, I am scrutinizing emergency items necessary to survive a night in a freezing cold airport, such as socks, sweatshirts and multiple candy bars and making sure I know the exact time the gift shop closes, when I notice someone unfamiliar that appears to be approaching me out of the corner of my eye. I veer to the right toward the paperback books and pretend to read the titles. I notice the same shadowy tall figure nearing me on my right and I turn left toward the Maine sweatshirts and t-shirts. Finally I turn on my heels and head toward the exit when a man about my age stops himself directly in front of me. I look up and see a huge smile on his face, and he was looking directly into my eyes.
Do I know this person? My mind is racing, mentally taking inventory of every man I’ve ever met. He looks vaguely familiar and he finally asks of me.....
“Do I know you?”
I say, “ I don’t know.”
He says, “You look very, very familiar.”
I said, “You look kinda familiar.” (I figured this was a wise thing to say just in case I actually did know this person. I didn’t want to seem like I forgot all about him or that he was so insignificant in my life that I didn’t remember him.)
“Are you a teacher?” , I ask. (Teachers are just about the only people I know. Tons of them)
“No”
“Where are you from?”, he inquires.
“Orginally?”, I ask.
“Yeah”
“New Jersey”, I say, thinking maybe I went to high school with him!! I’ve always wanted to run into someone from high school that I’ve haven’t seen in like, forever, and then realize we know each other.
New Jersey did not put a knowing look on his face.
“You’re a teacher?”, he aks.
“Yes.”
“Where?” (Now at this point I’m surveying him for terrorist accessories, or hidden box cutters.)
Suddenly, probably sensing my razor sharp eyes scanning him, he tells me he’s a surgeon in Camden, Maine.
“Hmmm”,I tell him, “I’ve been to Camden several times before.”
That didn’t impress him at all, so he very politely said, “ It was nice to meet you, but I’m guessing I don’t know you”.
He left the gift shop and entered the bar next door. He probably needed a stiff drink to help him recover from the disappointment of not being able to reminisce with me about our spontaneous romantic trip to the Isles of Greece when we were in our twenties.....or something like that.
Ah, those were the days.
Update: I just want to wish a sweet lady, Annie's Mom, a very happy, happy birthday! Love ya!
Monday, April 11, 2011
And we all just let it be???

I was driving into school today and, once again, noticed the price of gas.
It’s bad enough, the price that is, but can someone explain to me why ANYTHING costs a ‘dollar’ amount, a ‘cent’ amount and then a fraction of a cent????
Hello. I’m paying $3.67 and 9/10 for a gallon of gas? Nine tenths of a cent???
So when I’m all finished filling the tank by myself, why does it never total 'whatever', 'whatever' and a fraction of a cent? How can it always end up on a whole cent? I’m no math wiz, but even I know something isn’t kosher.
I fear I am being taken for a ride.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Just a new painting......
Monday, March 28, 2011
Happy Birthday MOM!!!!!!!
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Not much doing......
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Happy Valentine's Day.....


Sunday, March 6, 2011
Sixty years......
And if [it be] from sixty years old and above; if [it be] a male, then thy estimation shall be fifteen shekels, and for the female ten shekels.
Now, this one, I agree with. I love Cary Grant. (An Affair to Remember)(Remember?)(sigh)





Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Happy Birthday to my sister (in-law)........
Monday, February 14, 2011
Monday, February 7, 2011
Birdman Bakes Bread
[pause]”........um, okay.” I said.
“What kind of bread are you making?” I inquire.
“ You know, regular bread.”
So, a million scenarios go through my head from enjoying a wonderful piece of warm bread and butter, to scrapping dough off of the ceiling.
“Hey,” I say, “why don’t you peruse that little bread book I have in the den for a recipe.”
[blink blink silence]
“OK then,” I say, “ when you buy the yeast, buy a strip of it that has a recipe on the back for ‘regular’ bread.” “Make sure it has a recipe, because some don’t.”
“K”
So off he goes, to Hannaford, to pick up some yeast and a couple other things on this warm(ish), sunny February morning.
It’s now near 3:00 PM.....do I smell bread in the air?
No.
So I say, “Aren’t you going to make bread?”
(grumble.....grumble....) I hear from his direction. I leave well enough alone.
About 20 minutes later he announces, “OK, I’m going to start the bread.”
Out comes the kitchenaid mixer and the yeast packet.
“How do I do this?” he asks.
“Read the recipe.” I instruct.
“Where is it?”
“On the back of the yeast packet.”
“What? Oh...... [pause].......[pause]......[sigh].....[cough].....there’s no recipe on here!?”
“Didn’t you look before you bought it?”
“Yeah, I did” he replies, “but I didn’t have my glasses on.”
So he figured that if he saw a bunch of blurry lines and colors on the yeast packet, he was good to go.
Wrong.
So I start looking up recipes for ‘regular’ bread. I went to the Fleishman’s site and found a perfectly good recipe for beginners. But now he announces he wants to make raisin bread. I tell him that’s fine, but it will be a little more complicated and slightly different.
“Why can’t I just throw raisins into the ‘regular’ dough?” he asks.
“Well” I say, “the dough might be a different dough, maybe a sweeter one.”
So we look up raisin bread on my laptop and grab the first one we get to because, frankly, I’ve got other things to do.
Anytime there’s a cooking expedition that involves Birdman, for some reason I get involved.
So I’m eyeballing the closest exit that I could slither into without being detected.
Fat chance.
“Where’s the flour?”
“Over there” I say pointing to the cabinet where the flour has been for 30 years. (Not the same bag....)
“What are all these things for?” (holding up the kitchenaid paddles and whips)
(they are used to paddle, whip and beat life’s small irritations, I’m thinking....)
deep breath.....
So he gets everything out, he gets everything explained (in my opinion) and he’s on his way....
....except for these questions: 1. How do I open the yeast? 2. Where’s the brown sugar? 3. How much is a tablespoon of butter? 4. Can I heat up the milk in this pan? 5. Can you scroll the computer? I have dough on my fingers. 6. And the Piece de Resistance.....”What’s a yolk?” (That one I could.not.believe. I KNOW he knows what a yolk is.....!!!!@#$%&*) 6 1/2. How do you get the yolk out? I did manage to escape the room and I did hear some mild cursing now and then, but the result was we had one dang, wonderful loaf of raisin bread in the end. As they say, all’s well that ends well. And it ended well. As I’ve said many times before, it’s a darn good thing I like him! Thanks, Birdman. Further photographic evidence of bread making in Maine....