Musings on a Red or White Kitchen and Football

It was an exciting evening as the beloved Patriots won their division (perhaps with Myra's intervention and the prayers of Patriot nation).  Who knows?  As long as that kick went wrong, this is one gal who won't question.  Then the Giants won in overtime.  Yeehaw!  The Superbowl is going to be fun!  My friend Geri and I will be bending our brains to figure out a bet (see www.janeandgeridishthemovies.blogspot.com).  We'll come up with something I'm sure.  Anyway, just after the beloved Patriots won, I started to cook dinner.....

A few years ago, we had our kitchen redone.  While this is not uncommon, for us, this was huge.  Our home was built in 1955 and the kitchen was done in Harvest Gold..... metal cabinets and appliances.  With a wonderful grayish formica counter.  And a weird yellowish linoleum floor.  To complete the picture, the kitchen was divided in half by a half wall/bookcase type structure.  Very hard to work with.  It had tons of possibilities but needed money.  For years, Tas (my late husband) kept asking when he could tear down the wall.  I told him if he did that, he'd have to tear up the floor.  If he tore up the floor, then we'd have to tear out the cabinets...... You see where I'm going with this.

Finally, one day (16 years later) we had the funds to realize my dream- new kitchen!  As the house and every room in it is small, I lean towards lighter colors.  I wanted a white kitchen.  White appliances (not stainless, as magnets wouldn't stick and where would I put my souvenir collection?), white cabinets and granite counters, that grey/white/black that goes with everything.  The point is that these will go with everything and I could change decor whenever I wanted.  More importantly, if we ever sold and it wasn't a tear down (yeah right, it will be a tear down), the buyers would manage to do what they want.  And live with this in the meantime.  But this brings me to my current musings....

I should have done the kitchen in red....  I love to cook.  I love red wine.  I am a klutz.  I find myself cooking many dishes with a tomato base.  I seem to have a certain flair that sends some of the sauce a bit around the kitchen.  I also seem to have a knack for nicking myself with a knife from time to time.  (Please be assured that I take care of cuts immediately and don't poison anybody.)  I also cook with red wine and it gets splashed around.  So a little red around the kitchen.  Or a lot of red around the kitchen.  Especially when I make tomato sauce.  With red wine.  That includes stuff that I cut up.

Which reminds me of the time Tas was washing dishes and washing a glass (the dishwasher for some reason wasn't working) and it broke and gashed one of his fingers.  Badly.  He showed it to me.  Okay.  There is a reason I work in offices and not the medical field.  Really.  The only red I want to see is from tomatoes.  And wine of course.  But I do know this.  If you cut yourself, keep the damn thing above your heart.  That way, it is harder for the blood to pump up there or something.  Just keep it above your heart.  Trust me.  A competent person told me this.  So I told Tas that when he showed me the cut (I stayed just this side of fainting) that we were going to the hospital and wrap it in "this" (I don't remember what this is) and keep it above his heart.  I loved this man with all my heart but he chose this moment to question my knowledge!  Why!  I know, he was freaked out about the damage to his finger, he was a musician and here was his wife, a clearly non-medical person telling him to do something that seemed to be medical.  Thankfully, the hospital was a mile away.  Here's the best part.  At the emergency room, the first thing he was told was to get that finger above his heart.  Vindication is so, so sweet!  He had been challenging me on that piece of advice and wouldn't do it until he heard it from someone else. 

But back to my kitchen... I do like that it is still white.   sort of.  If one doesn't look too closely.  As long as I keep up with the cleaning.  I just made a nice tomato sauce with sausages for dinner tonight while watching the football games. I am very excited that the Patriots will have a chance to meet the Giants at the Superbowl!  Geri and I will be watching!

New York City- A Celebration of Family

Back in September or October, my local purveyor of spirits had certain wines for sale..... expensive wines, but those one wouldn't usually find in a retail store.  So, I conceived a notion to have a wine-tasting party.  I would invite family and friends and we would taste, imbibe and eat good food.  It had been a while since I had hosted any event at my home.   The time was ripe.  One of the "high class" wines that I acquired was a merlot, a wine that one of my sisters likes to enjoy, though not to excess.  This particular sister (I have a few) was due up in our area to bring her daughter to visit colleges in November.  I planned accordingly......

We all know the saying, proverb, what ever one wants to call it.  Man plans, God laughs.  This sister made it up a day late and couldn't stay.  I love my sis, I gave her the bottle of wine I saved for her.  She said we'd drink it together......

So we did.  I went to visit her a month later, just after her birthday.  It was a delicious bottle, even if I do prefer Cabernet Sauvignon.  The next day, we went into NYC to have lunch with lots of relatives.  Or Brunch.  At Tavern on Jane.  It's in the Village.  I think.  I can tell you this:  their weekend brunch is absolutely wonderful and I had a great time.  It gets crowded in there.  If you think you'll be with a crowd, call ahead and see if you can get the back room.  Much more spacious (by comparison only).  The food is great.  The price is right (especially for NYC!). 
At this point, I would insert a picture of me sitting under the sign "Tavern on Jane" but I am a 20th century person who is slowly learning to function in the 21st.  (There will be photos someday, if only to prove I can do it.)  I must say, I had no idea there was a Jane Street in NYC.  My parents never told me. Though it might have not crossed their minds.  I still have that photo of my mother, my older brother, myself and the next youngest sister at the little red lighthouse under the George Washington Bridge.  It's on the fridge.  Oh, didn't you know there's a lighthouse?  It's under the GW Bridge!  NY side.  It was there before the bridge.  Someone wrote a children's book about it.  But I've digressed.  (If you are sitting in the passenger seat in a car, driving south on the Henry Hudson Parkway just north of the GW, you can see the lighthouse, but only in the winter as the foliage will block your view otherwise.)  

Back to the subject at hand, though the sighting of the lighthouse was certainly one of my highlights that weekend.  There is more, much more.  Importantly more.  Our cousin joined us with two of her three offspring, a boyfriend of one as well as the son of one of our West Coast cousin's son.  I'd give you names but I don't have permission, releases etc.  Anyway, it was a lovely gathering of relatives.  I do love hanging out with the younger generation for the energy!

After the meal, three of us went down to the World Trade Center site.  Of course, it is all closed off, there is a lot building going on, and the entrance to the memorial site requires prior registration, tickets and picture identifications.  We did not plan ahead.  It was enough to be in the area.  There is a lot of building in the site.  I took some photos, I think I felt obligated.  We walked by the station house of the closest FDNY that responded.  There is also a very large plaque around the corner from that. 

It was a wonderful day.  I explored lots of areas in the city in which I was born.  It was bittersweet as I was surrounded by love from those I love though I visited an area of grief.  Despite the seriousness of the location, the implication that one must treat this particular parcel of land with reverence, this is what came back to me:  My mother, a born and bred New Yorker, said this about 9/11 "If anyone can handle this, it's New York."  God Bless NYC.  They keep showing us they way.

Cars I have owned

I am musing on the cars, and their personalities, that I have owned as yet another one has bit the dust.  This last car has only been in my possession a mere 29 days.  This is a personal record.  Prior to this, the shortest I have owned a car is six months.  That was my first car: Chester the Molester.  More about Chester in a moment.  The demise of this last car is due to a crash on a highway as my son was driving home from school.  Thankfully, no one (especially my son) was hurt.  So, now a history of the cars, their personalities, foibles and demise.

Chester the Molester:  Chester was a pale yellow Renault R10.  I purchased him from a little old lady who went skiing on Thursdays.  Literally.  She was a professor at the local university and walked the three blocks to her office.  Chester was 10 years old when I acquired him with about 40,000 miles.  A unique vehicle for the time, Chester had a manual choke, could be plugged in during the winter to keep the engine warm (this is in Vermont and any help to get started in the morning is appreciated) and the tire iron could be used to manually crank the engine started.  Also, the engine was in the back of the car, like a VW bug.  This, unfortunately, was the cause of Chester's demise.  A man ran a stop sign at 5 mph in an old Buick built like a tank and I was driving at 20 mph when I hit him.  This pushed in the front end and with nothing up front to stop the frame from moving, Chester couldn't be repaired.  It was a sad, sad day.

The Blond Bomb:  This car hated women.  Hated women!  It was a Mercury Capri based on the Mustang and it was Lemon Yellow.  I don't remember what year it was made.  It spluttered, gasped, choked, coughed and wheezed every time I attempted to drive it.  When any man drove it, it purred like a kitten being stroked and petted.  It didn't matter whether it was my boyfriend, my roommate Jeff, my father, my brother.  It would purr.  If I, my sister, or my mother drove that car it would buck, stall and wheeze.  It would stop dead in the middle of the interstate.  Okay, maybe I exaggerate.  It didn't stop dead in the middle of the interstate.  But it did everything else.  And it cost me so much money.  I was taking it in for repairs every month.  I only owned it for maybe a year.  Eventually, a complicated car swap was completed in the family and I received a Toyota Corolla named McMurphy that used to belong to one of my sisters.  Whew!  Thank God!  (One of my brothers eventually sold the Blond Bomb for actual cash! I couldn't believe it!)

McMurphy:  I loved McMurphy.  It was the start of my love affair with Toyotas.  McMurphy was old when I inherited him but I loved him.  He was such a joy to drive and own.  Especially after the Bomb.  Oh, he had his aches and pains.  But he was such a great guy.  But he was in his declining years.  I only had him for 18 months.  I was his third owner and this is New England, land of salt on the roadways.  He was rusting out.  There came the day when his engine fell out of the car.  Well, not "fell out" as in landed in the road.  More like "disassociated itself" from the frame of the car.  With a big bang.  When I got us to the mechanic's and we opened him up, at first we couldn't tell what was wrong.  Until we stood back and realized that parts of him were no longer connected.  Rest in peace, my dear friend.

D'Artagnan:  D' replaced McMurphy and was another Corolla.  This time a much newer car, though still used.  I had D' for 9 years.  Finally! Longevity!  And the chance to burn out a clutch, which I never, ever did, by the way.  We (by that time I had met and married my husband and we added to the family with the birth of our son, genius guitar player) drove that car into the ground.  My husband eventually traded it in for a used pickup truck.

Okay, here's where the car stories get a bit weird:  My husband buys a brand new Ford Escort that is supposed to be "his" car.  Which I promptly appropriate as it has four doors and is easier for me to use since I am doing the day care run morning and night once we have expanded the family.  He trades in my Corolla for a pickup truck.  I am not enamored of the truck, it's a small one but it's also the ugliest pickup truck I have ever seen.  However, the neighborhood kids are in love with it as it is base camp.  It is just the right size to jump into the back and use for whatever reason they need.  So, fast forward and now.......

The Minivan:  Yes, a family of three needs a minivan.  Don't ask me why.  I decided we needed one.  So, I  trade in the pick-up truck for a minivan.  And no, it is not revenge for trading in the Corolla.  The truck was on its last legs and it was time.  The amazing thing is that we hauled so many kids around in that minivan (well, my husband did) that it was a damn good thing I bought it.  There were so many kids driven around in that van that sometimes there weren't enough seatbelts to go around.  Hubby was available day and night and took the kids anywhere anytime.  I think he deserves a medal.  Or sainthood.  I bought it when our son was 8 and kept it until it had to be taken out and shot (according to our mechanic).  Actually, our mechanic said anyone who manages to get 150,000 miles on a Dodge minivan transmission is very, very lucky.  Go buy another car.  Immediately.  So I said okay.  Is it okay if I buy a Prius?  He said yes.


So I did.  Eleven months later I didn't see a red light.  So I bought another Prius as I managed to walk away mostly uninjured (you should have seen the car).

Meanwhile, our Ford Escort dies and we inherited my dad's Ford Taurus.  A long, long time ago, my dad had told my son that someday his red Ford pickup truck would be Paul's someday.  This did not come to pass.  But eventually, Paul inherited his grandfather's Taurus.  Kind of nice.

Now I have another Prius.  I cannot tell you how much I love these cars. 

Of course, my dad's Taurus bit the dust.  So I bought a Toyota Corolla for my son.  This one didn't work out very well.  At all, and after 18 months, it was time to take it out and shoot it, then call Salvation Army and say its yours if you want it.  So in December, after looking for an inexpensive used car, I bought a 2000 Buick Park Avenue.  The price was right.  Very nice, luxurious car.  It's huge.  I gave it a nickname.  The Barge.  Hey, it had heated seats.  But it takes forever to stop I guess.  RIP Buick Park Avenue.

Anybody got a reasonably priced used car out there?

The First Post!

The Introduction!
Here goes.... I've had a blog for a few years now, doing movie reviews with my friend Geri (janeandgeridishthemovies.blogspot.com) and enjoy this quite a bit.  However, it is quite limiting.  I find that I'd like to discuss other topics from time to time, such as books I've read or my take on an interesting (non-political) current event.  I try to stay away from politics at all costs.  It offends everyone.  Everywhere.  Every day.  Even more than religion.  And more than that, my politics offend everybody, everywhere all over the place as my opinions are all over the place.  I am what is known as the ultra-liberal, bleeding heart libertarian.  With a republican conservative bent.  Who once voted for Ross Perot and has been known to vote in every election and only once voted for a president that was elected.  And, believe it or not, I live in Massachusetts.  So, I will stay away from politics because I like people, don't want to offend you and would like people to read my blog and perhaps comment.  Please comment!

The name of my blog.  Yes.  My late husband called me Calamity Jane.  Not because I am a frontierswoman or outdoorsperson.  Nothing could be further from the truth.  Alas, calamity seems to follow my footsteps.  I can be a walking disaster.  I am clumsy, klutzy and a goofball.  I crash into things.  I am not young (nor am I old, I have been widowed at a relatively young age, it was a shock).  I managed to break my foot without falling down, quite a feat.  (Yes, pun intended.)  I have a gift for getting bruised.  My husband finally admitted my gift when I walked into our kitchen one day and five feet away, glasses leaped out (yes, leaped out!) of cabinets and flung themselves onto the floor.  I had a witness, finally, to the powers of my calamity! 

So, hopefully, you'll jump on the wagon with me and enjoy the ride as I jot down the ramblings of my mind as I start this new adventure in 2012.  And in the spirit of the new year I must tell you this.  I think one of two things regarding the Mayans:

1.  The Mayan guy got tired and said I'm done with this calendar business.
2.  He or she ran out of material because the mining people were on strike again, or (oops three things)
3.  (got this one on the internet) Marty McFly went to the future in 2015 so the world doesn't end yet!
Happy New Year!