My parents have always been of the "eat to live, don't live to eat" philosophy. And they have both remained slender into their eighties. I have always loved and enjoyed my food, and there is no need to discuss my weight.
Buffets are of paramount interest to me because of the unbeatable combination of variety and quantity, and this extends to nearly all types of food. So far I have been to Italian, French, Mexican, American, and Chinese buffets, and breakfast, lunch, and dinner buffets. Doesn't it make your mouth water to think of all that food?
Tonight we chose Chinese. This buffet is especially fantastic because of its crab rangoon. Plus it has desserts. After a heaping plate of my favorites, it was time to consider the last all-important course. Bananas in raspberry sauce, pineapple, orange slices, tapioca and chocolate puddings, cake and pastries... or the crowning glory, soft serve ice cream in three flavors. You remember the old adage, "Ice cream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream"; of course the ice cream won, and it was further improved by adding the bananas and pineapple. I was headed for the hot fudge sauce bucket when I was loudly redirected by our server. I had been inches from dousing my dessert with Moo Shi Sauce. I celebrated the near tragedy by heaping whipped cream over the hot fudge sauce, etc.
While spouse and I dined, we observed our fellow diners and the restaurant staff. The staff bring their children to work every day, or at least every day that we're there, and they are entertaining to watch and overhear. What I find especially nice is that the staff and their family members take plates from the same stack we do, and serve themselves from the same buffet food as we do.
We got moderately interesting fortunes. "Be willing to believe in anything that is good," and "Most people, once they graduate from the School of Hard Knocks, automatically enroll." We didn't really grasp that second one. Maybe we're slow learners.
Afterwards, I had only one question, which is destined to go forever unanswered. Why, with all that scrumptiousness at hand, was our server walking around with a Cup Noodles?
May 19, 2010
May 15, 2010
Dental Despair
In my early school years, I walked a mile or four to see Dr. Koswan (phonetic spelling), the family dentist. I needed about seventeen fillings because in the 1960s it was neither fashionable nor financially possible to have biannual cleanings. Probably I brushed my teeth as a child, but I don't have any memories of it. What I remember from Dr. Koswan's appointments are wads of cotton and, once, a droplet of mercury on the floor that Dr. K. was trying to pick up with a curled up piece of paper. Maybe he should have used the wad of cotton to soak it up.
Then we moved out of Danvers, and I took my shiny silver fillings away from Dr. Koswan. It would be years before I returned to a dentist's office, and then it was like an instant replay; more cavities, more fillings. If I hadn't had the good fortune to abscess a tooth, it would have been an even longer vacation from that chair that goes up and down.
I reached adulthood with lots of fillings and a serious fear of dentistry, but now I had dental insurance, so there was no financial reason not to go every six months. Which I did. I lied about flossing daily, and didn't realize until years later when I actually started flossing daily that they knew I was lying. I had my wisdom teeth out while I was pregnant with child number two, and healed in record time. It went well, and hearing the impacted tooth crunch and crumble as the dentist wrestled with it didn't faze me. I was gradually losing my fear, and came to look forward to the cleanings.
Once we had children, we started them on the biannual cleaning routine at age three. Meanwhile, water had become fluoridated. As a result, our girls got through their childhoods with only one cavity between them. One day when they both had cleanings, I was told that they both had two cavities, but I refused to believe it. I took the girls for a second opinion, and neither one had a cavity, but they both had a new dentist.
The girls had no cavities, I had no more cavities, I was flossing, things were going well. Isn't dental insurance a wonderful thing? My new adult dentist complained that my mouth was so healthy that he wasn't making any money. The hygienists would tell me that I had a couple of cracked teeth, but it was easy enough to chew on the other side. They mentioned that I ground my teeth and should order a mouth guard, from them, for about $100, not covered by insurance. But there was no pain, and that was the important thing, so I got my own mouth guard from the store, tried it a few nights, and couldn't stand it any more.
Then as I slid out of the forties and into the fifties, things slowly took a turn for the worse. I lost half a molar flossing, and needed a crown, my first. But first the dentist had to laser off the gum that had moved into the spot vacated by the broken tooth. The nitrous oxide put my hands to sleep which would have been perfect if that was where the suffering was. The chair was tilted back so far I was nearly doing a headstand. But I told myself I would have a brand new gold tooth after all this - or at least in a few weeks when they had finished making it from the mold. It was a blast from beginning to end, made even better because insurance covered only half of it.
I had to increase the cleanings to three a year, one of which was not covered by insurance, because I had the beginnings of periodontal disease. I bought an electric toothbrush from the dentist's office, used it faithfully, flossed daily, and hoped for the best. Then for my 52nd birthday, I got an abscessed tooth. This required Advil every four hours until I was able to snag an appointment at the dentist's about six days after the pain and swelling started. Maybe the tooth can be saved, said the dentist, who sent me to a root canal specialist. A root canal! Just what I've always wanted. The specialist took a digital xray and gave me the good news - this tooth cannot be saved. I had reached this conclusion myself. Any time a tooth lifts itself up out of the gum there has to be a serious consequence. It was a back tooth and difficult to hygienisize, anyway.
I called the dentist's office and discussed the pros and cons of having the dentist vs. an oral surgeon. The oral surgeon is much more expensive, said the receptionist, and you would have to wait until the next blue moon. The dentist could do the extraction in a few days. All things considered, I chose the dentist. How bad can it be? I had my wisdom teeth out two at a time, and I walked out of the office with a mouth full of gauze, but I could still walk.
On the big day, I had Novocaine and nitrous oxide, and my head was strapped to the chair. It was not an auspicious beginning. Spouse was in the waiting room and would hear me if I screamed. Which I did not, but there may have been some whimpering, especially when she was digging into the gum for stray pieces of broken tooth. It was a frightful, horrendous experience and it went on for an hour and a half. I did manage to walk out of there, and would have run if I wasn't still light-headed from chemical ingestion. Then I got to experience day-after face swelling so amazing that co-workers told me I looked awful and should go home. Speaking was difficult as my lips no longer met and my words were slurred so I took their advice, and then stayed home another day.
A week after the extraction I went back so the stitches could be ripped out. Tiny food particles had gotten lodged into the new vacancy and I had had some shooting pain in my jaw because of it. The dentist got her vacuum cleaner and took care of that little problem while I tried very hard not to cry. She then applied some plaster of paris-like stuff to the wound and said that it should help to keep more food out. We didn't want the gum healing over food particles which would get infected, did we? Speaking for myself, that would be a resounding NO. One of my favorite moments that day was when I was in the chair, tilted way back once again into that oh-so-familiar position, and heard the dentist tell her assistant to schedule a crown for the tooth next to the extraction. No, thank you. Thank you. No.
In the next month, I had an appointment for a cleaning. Cleanings were done on the "other" side of the office, and the hygienist has always been gentle, so in I went. I overheard the receptionist saying farewells to the hygienist, and learned that it was her last day there, and that she was moving to another office in town. That was all I needed to hear.
My new dentist, who has a great, familiar hygienist wink wink, does not use nitrous oxide. If a tooth needs to be extracted, the patient is sent to an oral surgeon who presumably anesthetizes the patient to unconsciousness or close to it. Isn't that the way surgery should be?
During my second cleaning appointment at the new office, my new dentist strongly suggested scaling my teeth because of the deep pockets my gums have developed which seek and hold bacteria, leading to serious gum problems. These scalings are done in four quadrants, and are only 50% covered by insurance, and they sound 100% painful and unpleasant. If left untreated, there will probably be a need for gum surgery which removes the gum where the pockets have gotten too large. Maybe with a laser, maybe a chain saw, I'm not sure. I elected to heal myself by flossing and brushing three times a day and using both a plaque and a fluoride rinse to postpone the possibly inevitable.
Part of me is convinced that dentists will do anything to us that our insurance will cover, especially in this economy. But there is another part that is gearing up for what comes next, because "just say no" isn't always enough to chase away the low-down, mean-old, dreaded dental blues.
Then we moved out of Danvers, and I took my shiny silver fillings away from Dr. Koswan. It would be years before I returned to a dentist's office, and then it was like an instant replay; more cavities, more fillings. If I hadn't had the good fortune to abscess a tooth, it would have been an even longer vacation from that chair that goes up and down.
I reached adulthood with lots of fillings and a serious fear of dentistry, but now I had dental insurance, so there was no financial reason not to go every six months. Which I did. I lied about flossing daily, and didn't realize until years later when I actually started flossing daily that they knew I was lying. I had my wisdom teeth out while I was pregnant with child number two, and healed in record time. It went well, and hearing the impacted tooth crunch and crumble as the dentist wrestled with it didn't faze me. I was gradually losing my fear, and came to look forward to the cleanings.
Once we had children, we started them on the biannual cleaning routine at age three. Meanwhile, water had become fluoridated. As a result, our girls got through their childhoods with only one cavity between them. One day when they both had cleanings, I was told that they both had two cavities, but I refused to believe it. I took the girls for a second opinion, and neither one had a cavity, but they both had a new dentist.
The girls had no cavities, I had no more cavities, I was flossing, things were going well. Isn't dental insurance a wonderful thing? My new adult dentist complained that my mouth was so healthy that he wasn't making any money. The hygienists would tell me that I had a couple of cracked teeth, but it was easy enough to chew on the other side. They mentioned that I ground my teeth and should order a mouth guard, from them, for about $100, not covered by insurance. But there was no pain, and that was the important thing, so I got my own mouth guard from the store, tried it a few nights, and couldn't stand it any more.
Then as I slid out of the forties and into the fifties, things slowly took a turn for the worse. I lost half a molar flossing, and needed a crown, my first. But first the dentist had to laser off the gum that had moved into the spot vacated by the broken tooth. The nitrous oxide put my hands to sleep which would have been perfect if that was where the suffering was. The chair was tilted back so far I was nearly doing a headstand. But I told myself I would have a brand new gold tooth after all this - or at least in a few weeks when they had finished making it from the mold. It was a blast from beginning to end, made even better because insurance covered only half of it.
I had to increase the cleanings to three a year, one of which was not covered by insurance, because I had the beginnings of periodontal disease. I bought an electric toothbrush from the dentist's office, used it faithfully, flossed daily, and hoped for the best. Then for my 52nd birthday, I got an abscessed tooth. This required Advil every four hours until I was able to snag an appointment at the dentist's about six days after the pain and swelling started. Maybe the tooth can be saved, said the dentist, who sent me to a root canal specialist. A root canal! Just what I've always wanted. The specialist took a digital xray and gave me the good news - this tooth cannot be saved. I had reached this conclusion myself. Any time a tooth lifts itself up out of the gum there has to be a serious consequence. It was a back tooth and difficult to hygienisize, anyway.
I called the dentist's office and discussed the pros and cons of having the dentist vs. an oral surgeon. The oral surgeon is much more expensive, said the receptionist, and you would have to wait until the next blue moon. The dentist could do the extraction in a few days. All things considered, I chose the dentist. How bad can it be? I had my wisdom teeth out two at a time, and I walked out of the office with a mouth full of gauze, but I could still walk.
On the big day, I had Novocaine and nitrous oxide, and my head was strapped to the chair. It was not an auspicious beginning. Spouse was in the waiting room and would hear me if I screamed. Which I did not, but there may have been some whimpering, especially when she was digging into the gum for stray pieces of broken tooth. It was a frightful, horrendous experience and it went on for an hour and a half. I did manage to walk out of there, and would have run if I wasn't still light-headed from chemical ingestion. Then I got to experience day-after face swelling so amazing that co-workers told me I looked awful and should go home. Speaking was difficult as my lips no longer met and my words were slurred so I took their advice, and then stayed home another day.
A week after the extraction I went back so the stitches could be ripped out. Tiny food particles had gotten lodged into the new vacancy and I had had some shooting pain in my jaw because of it. The dentist got her vacuum cleaner and took care of that little problem while I tried very hard not to cry. She then applied some plaster of paris-like stuff to the wound and said that it should help to keep more food out. We didn't want the gum healing over food particles which would get infected, did we? Speaking for myself, that would be a resounding NO. One of my favorite moments that day was when I was in the chair, tilted way back once again into that oh-so-familiar position, and heard the dentist tell her assistant to schedule a crown for the tooth next to the extraction. No, thank you. Thank you. No.
In the next month, I had an appointment for a cleaning. Cleanings were done on the "other" side of the office, and the hygienist has always been gentle, so in I went. I overheard the receptionist saying farewells to the hygienist, and learned that it was her last day there, and that she was moving to another office in town. That was all I needed to hear.
My new dentist, who has a great, familiar hygienist wink wink, does not use nitrous oxide. If a tooth needs to be extracted, the patient is sent to an oral surgeon who presumably anesthetizes the patient to unconsciousness or close to it. Isn't that the way surgery should be?
During my second cleaning appointment at the new office, my new dentist strongly suggested scaling my teeth because of the deep pockets my gums have developed which seek and hold bacteria, leading to serious gum problems. These scalings are done in four quadrants, and are only 50% covered by insurance, and they sound 100% painful and unpleasant. If left untreated, there will probably be a need for gum surgery which removes the gum where the pockets have gotten too large. Maybe with a laser, maybe a chain saw, I'm not sure. I elected to heal myself by flossing and brushing three times a day and using both a plaque and a fluoride rinse to postpone the possibly inevitable.
Part of me is convinced that dentists will do anything to us that our insurance will cover, especially in this economy. But there is another part that is gearing up for what comes next, because "just say no" isn't always enough to chase away the low-down, mean-old, dreaded dental blues.
January 31, 2010
Mister Rogers to MTV
When I was growing up, our family always had one television, and it was always black and white. There were 3 - 5 channels; 4, 5, 7, and sometimes 2 and 10. I liked to get up early on weekend days, before everyone else in the family, just to watch The Three Stooges, Davey and Goliath, or anything that was on. I was mesmerised by Mister Rogers and I always wished that Miss Jean would look into her Romper Room magic mirror and see me. Despite never hearing my name, I knew that television was magic and scary because of something that happened one morning.
I was sitting on the couch watching Jack Lalanne, alone as usual, when he said TO ME, "Put down that candy and get up off that couch." I was terrorized because he could see me through that TV screen, right down to the candy I was holding. I jumped off the couch and used evasive maneuvers to sneak over and turn off that evil TV. My little heart was pounding, but I knew I was safe once he couldn't see me. I didn't give up watching early morning TV, but I did give up watching Jack Lalanne.
We children really didn't watch TV during the day. We were told to "go out and play," as were all the kids in the neighborhood. There were shows that we were never allowed to watch, and those were soap operas and Twilight Zone. I didn't watch either until I was married, and then I understood my mother's rules.
As teenagers, we took serious interest in TV, and I appreciated the excitement of September. As unpleasant as it was to go back to school, at least we had the new TV shows to watch. Laugh In was a favorite in our house, and although I didn't always know why my father would laugh uproariously at some of the skits, I did get some of them, and enjoyed the show. On Monday nights we would have a conflict because The Monkees and Gilligan's Island were on opposite each other. My mother solved that squabble by having us take turns on Mondays. Saturday nights our parents would sometimes go out, and the eldest of the kids would stay up late and watch Hogan's Heroes. The stress of babysitting the younger kids required snacks, so we would have ice cream when we were lucky. There was never any temptation to watch the forbidden shows as, living in a creaky old house, we had enough fodder for nightmares if we were looking for some.
Once spouse and I were married, we got our own TV, a Magnavox console, color, of course. It was big and beautiful, and the roomy, flat top could hold all kinds of stuff. Then we had our first child, and I stayed home with her full time. This is when I started checking out The Soaps, but when I realized that the televised emotional turmoil was affecting me I had to give them up. When our little one was almost two, spouse discovered some new technology, a new toy, a VCR. He had to be the first on his block to get one, and he handed over $800 for the privilege. This was 1979. We began wearing a path to the store to rent their VHS tapes. What a concept, to be able to watch a movie, pause it, then resume watching.
I didn't have a "forbidden" TV show list for our girls, but I never got them started on Sesame Street. Mister Rogers was a favorite, and when I told my mother that my daughter answered Mister Rogers' questions, she told me that I had done the same thing. Once I got a part time job, spouse would watch TV with the girls at night, and their favorites were the Muppets and Hee Haw. Hee Haw, according to our elder daughter, had to be watched from the floor, not the couch. Spouse never learned why, but he went along with it. Once MTV was born, some may have felt that video killed the radio star, but I loved my MTV. The girls weren't into it much, but they did like to watch some of the videos. "Thriller" was a favorite of only one of the girls; our younger daughter was always afraid of it. It was a creep fest, although very well done.
We did try to prevent nightmares, for the girls and for us, and when "Pee Wee's Big Adventure" was on, I would tell the girls to close their eyes for the 'Large Marge' segment. To this day, our older daughter has not seen Marge's face, but not because she is afraid, only because of lack of opportunity. When we do watch TV together, it is shows like CSI and Bones. Our younger daughter prefers less graphic TV, but likes action/adventures and romantic comedy. With over 900 channels on the cable box, there are plenty of choices for all of us. But it's good to have the VCR and On Demand ready at a moment's notice. Just In Case there's nothing on TV. We have all come a long way since Mister Rogers.
I was sitting on the couch watching Jack Lalanne, alone as usual, when he said TO ME, "Put down that candy and get up off that couch." I was terrorized because he could see me through that TV screen, right down to the candy I was holding. I jumped off the couch and used evasive maneuvers to sneak over and turn off that evil TV. My little heart was pounding, but I knew I was safe once he couldn't see me. I didn't give up watching early morning TV, but I did give up watching Jack Lalanne.
We children really didn't watch TV during the day. We were told to "go out and play," as were all the kids in the neighborhood. There were shows that we were never allowed to watch, and those were soap operas and Twilight Zone. I didn't watch either until I was married, and then I understood my mother's rules.
As teenagers, we took serious interest in TV, and I appreciated the excitement of September. As unpleasant as it was to go back to school, at least we had the new TV shows to watch. Laugh In was a favorite in our house, and although I didn't always know why my father would laugh uproariously at some of the skits, I did get some of them, and enjoyed the show. On Monday nights we would have a conflict because The Monkees and Gilligan's Island were on opposite each other. My mother solved that squabble by having us take turns on Mondays. Saturday nights our parents would sometimes go out, and the eldest of the kids would stay up late and watch Hogan's Heroes. The stress of babysitting the younger kids required snacks, so we would have ice cream when we were lucky. There was never any temptation to watch the forbidden shows as, living in a creaky old house, we had enough fodder for nightmares if we were looking for some.
Once spouse and I were married, we got our own TV, a Magnavox console, color, of course. It was big and beautiful, and the roomy, flat top could hold all kinds of stuff. Then we had our first child, and I stayed home with her full time. This is when I started checking out The Soaps, but when I realized that the televised emotional turmoil was affecting me I had to give them up. When our little one was almost two, spouse discovered some new technology, a new toy, a VCR. He had to be the first on his block to get one, and he handed over $800 for the privilege. This was 1979. We began wearing a path to the store to rent their VHS tapes. What a concept, to be able to watch a movie, pause it, then resume watching.
I didn't have a "forbidden" TV show list for our girls, but I never got them started on Sesame Street. Mister Rogers was a favorite, and when I told my mother that my daughter answered Mister Rogers' questions, she told me that I had done the same thing. Once I got a part time job, spouse would watch TV with the girls at night, and their favorites were the Muppets and Hee Haw. Hee Haw, according to our elder daughter, had to be watched from the floor, not the couch. Spouse never learned why, but he went along with it. Once MTV was born, some may have felt that video killed the radio star, but I loved my MTV. The girls weren't into it much, but they did like to watch some of the videos. "Thriller" was a favorite of only one of the girls; our younger daughter was always afraid of it. It was a creep fest, although very well done.
We did try to prevent nightmares, for the girls and for us, and when "Pee Wee's Big Adventure" was on, I would tell the girls to close their eyes for the 'Large Marge' segment. To this day, our older daughter has not seen Marge's face, but not because she is afraid, only because of lack of opportunity. When we do watch TV together, it is shows like CSI and Bones. Our younger daughter prefers less graphic TV, but likes action/adventures and romantic comedy. With over 900 channels on the cable box, there are plenty of choices for all of us. But it's good to have the VCR and On Demand ready at a moment's notice. Just In Case there's nothing on TV. We have all come a long way since Mister Rogers.
January 27, 2010
Stop, Drop, and Roll This Shopping Cart Out of Here
When I was a young child, grocery shopping was a great time, An Occasion. When it was my turn to be the one to accompany my mother to the "food store", it was cause for celebration and it required begging and pleading until my mother caved. Looking back, I know that she must have treasured the trips to the food store - if she were lucky enough to get away with none of us in tow. At the time, all I knew was I didn't like my mother's mysterious weekend disappearances (for naps). I would wander around the house looking for her, and when I was unable to find her, I'd ask my father, "Where's Mommy?". His answer was always the same, "She ran off with the pirates." Enough reason to beg, borrow, or steal all the 1:1 time with her that I could.
Flash forward to our newlywed days when spouse and I would go food shopping after work to either Market Basket or Purity Supreme. Food shopping was even more fun now, since we both got to pick out anything we wanted - as long as it fit into the budget. It was a good time. These joint shopping expeditions continued until we had our first child, after which the baby and I did the shopping while spouse was at work. The GM Loveseat, the latest, safest technology at the time, fit into the carriage, and the food fit in around the baby seat. Food shopping was more challenging now, but new mothers adapt. Once our second child was born, food shopping became a solo operation. With both girls in the shopping cart there was little room for the food. And after taking care of the girls all day, then food shopping, I was ready for an easy supper, and that's when I learned to love drive-thru windows. Burger King was close and convenient, and a few hamburgers didn't take too much bite into the food budget. One afternoon at the drive-thru, I ordered the burgers with no drinks, having just stocked up on plenty of everything. At the pick-up window, the nice young girl advised me not to "drink too much milk". Puzzled, I looked over at the other side of the car, loaded with brown bags, and saw the four gallons of milk sitting proudly on the passenger seat. Every body's a comedienne.
Along came the '90s, and I decided that I had had enough shopping, cooking, and cleanup for the evening meal. The girls were growing, and it was time for me to have my "me" decade. We started dining out frequently. Occasionally the girls would accompany us. Occasionally we would bring them back supper. Occasionally they would prepare their own meals. The decrease of the food shopping bill was in direct proportion to the increase in the dining out bill. We are not gourmands, and we ate cheap. The emphasis was on quantity, not quality.
This was when I started to hate food shopping. Why food shop when we hardly eat at home? Well, how else do we get the necessities like detergent, paper products, and cat food? I begrudged the time cruising the aisles, waiting in lines, bagging my own stuff. I tried Stop & Shop's Peapod service, but I never got into the routine of shopping on-line and I didn't like those extra charges on top of the bill. $100 for groceries is too much when there is barely any food involved.
So I decided to rope spouse in to help me food shop because misery does love company. He drove the shopping cart, I selected the items. Except for the ice cream, chips, pretzels, cereal, and Ring Dings. Those are his domain. We would have our supper (out, of course), then head for Shaw's, preferred over Stop & Shop for several reasons. This all worked out well for several years, until this past Sunday. Spouse had the shopping cart, as usual, and I was the search team. I was searching for barley, something I buy once every five years, and I was having trouble finding it, but I did find it. I went back to where I left spouse, and there he was - gone. I walked half the length of the store, and he was nowhere.
I resumed shopping for a few minutes, gathering pudding boxes, soup cans, and by the time my arms were full, spouse had still not reappeared. I went to get a hand basket and dropped everything into it, then went on a serious search for spouse. Once I reached the end of the store, he came around the last aisle, having spent the past ten minutes selecting two cartons of ice cream and one gallon of milk. Eager to share my exasperation, I gave him The Look, then emptied my hand basket into the cart and went to get some bread. Apparently The Look had no affect, because spouse announced that he was going to get the cereal, which is one aisle over from the barley aisle, and the aisle past which he had sped by in his desperate quest for ice cream, which is in the absolute last aisle of the store. This was when I lost my food shopping cool and shouted at him to wait two minutes for me while I picked out some bread. I became one of those people that shouts in public. Decibel-wise it wasn't a true shout, but for me it was a shout. Spouse waited two minutes while I picked out some bread, then we went to the cereal aisle, and all the other aisles that had been missed.
It is time to start shopping after work again. By myself. Maybe this was spouse's plan all along.
Flash forward to our newlywed days when spouse and I would go food shopping after work to either Market Basket or Purity Supreme. Food shopping was even more fun now, since we both got to pick out anything we wanted - as long as it fit into the budget. It was a good time. These joint shopping expeditions continued until we had our first child, after which the baby and I did the shopping while spouse was at work. The GM Loveseat, the latest, safest technology at the time, fit into the carriage, and the food fit in around the baby seat. Food shopping was more challenging now, but new mothers adapt. Once our second child was born, food shopping became a solo operation. With both girls in the shopping cart there was little room for the food. And after taking care of the girls all day, then food shopping, I was ready for an easy supper, and that's when I learned to love drive-thru windows. Burger King was close and convenient, and a few hamburgers didn't take too much bite into the food budget. One afternoon at the drive-thru, I ordered the burgers with no drinks, having just stocked up on plenty of everything. At the pick-up window, the nice young girl advised me not to "drink too much milk". Puzzled, I looked over at the other side of the car, loaded with brown bags, and saw the four gallons of milk sitting proudly on the passenger seat. Every body's a comedienne.
Along came the '90s, and I decided that I had had enough shopping, cooking, and cleanup for the evening meal. The girls were growing, and it was time for me to have my "me" decade. We started dining out frequently. Occasionally the girls would accompany us. Occasionally we would bring them back supper. Occasionally they would prepare their own meals. The decrease of the food shopping bill was in direct proportion to the increase in the dining out bill. We are not gourmands, and we ate cheap. The emphasis was on quantity, not quality.
This was when I started to hate food shopping. Why food shop when we hardly eat at home? Well, how else do we get the necessities like detergent, paper products, and cat food? I begrudged the time cruising the aisles, waiting in lines, bagging my own stuff. I tried Stop & Shop's Peapod service, but I never got into the routine of shopping on-line and I didn't like those extra charges on top of the bill. $100 for groceries is too much when there is barely any food involved.
So I decided to rope spouse in to help me food shop because misery does love company. He drove the shopping cart, I selected the items. Except for the ice cream, chips, pretzels, cereal, and Ring Dings. Those are his domain. We would have our supper (out, of course), then head for Shaw's, preferred over Stop & Shop for several reasons. This all worked out well for several years, until this past Sunday. Spouse had the shopping cart, as usual, and I was the search team. I was searching for barley, something I buy once every five years, and I was having trouble finding it, but I did find it. I went back to where I left spouse, and there he was - gone. I walked half the length of the store, and he was nowhere.
I resumed shopping for a few minutes, gathering pudding boxes, soup cans, and by the time my arms were full, spouse had still not reappeared. I went to get a hand basket and dropped everything into it, then went on a serious search for spouse. Once I reached the end of the store, he came around the last aisle, having spent the past ten minutes selecting two cartons of ice cream and one gallon of milk. Eager to share my exasperation, I gave him The Look, then emptied my hand basket into the cart and went to get some bread. Apparently The Look had no affect, because spouse announced that he was going to get the cereal, which is one aisle over from the barley aisle, and the aisle past which he had sped by in his desperate quest for ice cream, which is in the absolute last aisle of the store. This was when I lost my food shopping cool and shouted at him to wait two minutes for me while I picked out some bread. I became one of those people that shouts in public. Decibel-wise it wasn't a true shout, but for me it was a shout. Spouse waited two minutes while I picked out some bread, then we went to the cereal aisle, and all the other aisles that had been missed.
It is time to start shopping after work again. By myself. Maybe this was spouse's plan all along.
December 31, 2009
Just Another Manic Moving Day
A year after their seventh child was born, my parents decided that our house was no longer big enough. Looking back, I don't remember much about that house. The cellar was perfect for roller skating in circles, the attic was great for playing school, there were pocket doors between the living room and the other living room (in fourth grade I didn't pay much attention to what rooms were called), and the floor in the downstairs bathroom was a black and green swirl pattern and was always freezing cold.
Before moving day, my mother had a going away party for all the kids in the neighborhood, and gave them all presents. During the party, my mother looked outside and saw a child walking by. The child was more an acquaintance than a friend, but my mother told me to go invite her to the party. Meanwhile, my mother scrounged up another present from her bureau drawer, a pretty little change purse, and gave it to the girl.
Although it was a little sad to say goodbye to my best friend, Paula, I was excited about moving to a new house. The whole searching/passing papers/packing process went right over our heads. When moving day arrived, all the house contents had been taken away, and the nine of us were left alone in the house. Our last supper was chicken pot pie with no drinks (or so I remember) and to this day I remember how dry, dry, dry that chicken pot pie was. I have never had any since. After our gourmet meal, we all piled into the car, in the dark of the cold winter evening, and away we went to our new house.
An hour later, we scrambled out of the car and hurried into the big, new house. Actually, it was quite a big house, but it wasn't new. Part of it was built in the 1700s and the rest of it in the 1800s. The cellar had three rooms, and one of them even had a dirt floor. There were two staircases, one at each end of the long house. Most of the bedrooms had fireplaces, as did all the downstairs rooms. (We were later to discover the mice in the walls, but the mice would always quiet down when we knocked on the walls.) We kids covered every inch of that house that first night, filling all its rooms with our excitement, walking up and down those staircases. It must have driven my exhausted parents crazy, but if so, they kept it to themselves. It was a magical night.
When spouse and I got married, we had our house built, watching every step of its creation. When we came home from our honeymoon and the house wasn't ready, we stayed with spouse's parents for five weeks. We finally moved in and we loved our new house. Within a year, our best man (spouse's brother) and matron of honor had their house built, and we were thrilled to be only a mile apart. Then the babies started coming, and we took turns having them for the next four years. The kids loved playing together, and we parents had many great times together.
Gradually our town became more like a city, and our street became more like a speedway. The girls couldn't ride their bikes in the street (alright, I wouldn't LET them) and the traffic all over the city was getting crazy. We decided to move to small town USA. We looked at houses to buy, but once again, it was more cost effective to build a house than to buy someone else's. So that's what we did. This time when the new house wasn't ready on time, we moved in with my mother, for eight weeks. House-hunting, color selections, packing, moving, it's all difficult and stressful, but the most difficult part of moving is leaving loved ones behind.
We actually had two moving days, as the first was to move the furniture into storage, with the generous help of family members. The second moving day was easier than the first, as we had the assistance of professionals and were only moving five miles. We, along with our girls, had watched the progress of the construction one weekend at a time, so there were no surprises, unpleasant or otherwise. The girls got their blue or pink bedrooms and a bigger yard. They seemed to like the new house, despite the cellar having only one room and a cement (not dirt) floor, despite there being only one staircase, and despite the lack of mice in the walls. Kids - they're so easy to please.
Before moving day, my mother had a going away party for all the kids in the neighborhood, and gave them all presents. During the party, my mother looked outside and saw a child walking by. The child was more an acquaintance than a friend, but my mother told me to go invite her to the party. Meanwhile, my mother scrounged up another present from her bureau drawer, a pretty little change purse, and gave it to the girl.
Although it was a little sad to say goodbye to my best friend, Paula, I was excited about moving to a new house. The whole searching/passing papers/packing process went right over our heads. When moving day arrived, all the house contents had been taken away, and the nine of us were left alone in the house. Our last supper was chicken pot pie with no drinks (or so I remember) and to this day I remember how dry, dry, dry that chicken pot pie was. I have never had any since. After our gourmet meal, we all piled into the car, in the dark of the cold winter evening, and away we went to our new house.
An hour later, we scrambled out of the car and hurried into the big, new house. Actually, it was quite a big house, but it wasn't new. Part of it was built in the 1700s and the rest of it in the 1800s. The cellar had three rooms, and one of them even had a dirt floor. There were two staircases, one at each end of the long house. Most of the bedrooms had fireplaces, as did all the downstairs rooms. (We were later to discover the mice in the walls, but the mice would always quiet down when we knocked on the walls.) We kids covered every inch of that house that first night, filling all its rooms with our excitement, walking up and down those staircases. It must have driven my exhausted parents crazy, but if so, they kept it to themselves. It was a magical night.
When spouse and I got married, we had our house built, watching every step of its creation. When we came home from our honeymoon and the house wasn't ready, we stayed with spouse's parents for five weeks. We finally moved in and we loved our new house. Within a year, our best man (spouse's brother) and matron of honor had their house built, and we were thrilled to be only a mile apart. Then the babies started coming, and we took turns having them for the next four years. The kids loved playing together, and we parents had many great times together.
Gradually our town became more like a city, and our street became more like a speedway. The girls couldn't ride their bikes in the street (alright, I wouldn't LET them) and the traffic all over the city was getting crazy. We decided to move to small town USA. We looked at houses to buy, but once again, it was more cost effective to build a house than to buy someone else's. So that's what we did. This time when the new house wasn't ready on time, we moved in with my mother, for eight weeks. House-hunting, color selections, packing, moving, it's all difficult and stressful, but the most difficult part of moving is leaving loved ones behind.
We actually had two moving days, as the first was to move the furniture into storage, with the generous help of family members. The second moving day was easier than the first, as we had the assistance of professionals and were only moving five miles. We, along with our girls, had watched the progress of the construction one weekend at a time, so there were no surprises, unpleasant or otherwise. The girls got their blue or pink bedrooms and a bigger yard. They seemed to like the new house, despite the cellar having only one room and a cement (not dirt) floor, despite there being only one staircase, and despite the lack of mice in the walls. Kids - they're so easy to please.
December 12, 2009
How I Spent My Summer Vacation
Our vacations as kids were spent mostly at campgrounds, and we slept in either tents, shelters, or the family pop-up camper. Once I slept on a picnic table, but I don't recommend that. Meals were prepared by our mother, and we kids would help out by bringing a bucket to the campground faucet for dish and cooking water. There was always something fun to do, either walking around to see what was going on, or going swimming. We did some family things like hiking or visiting fish hatcheries or state parks. With seven kids, there was always someone to hang around with.
One year we skipped the campground scene and stayed at a house in Vermont. There was no beach in sight, but there were deer in the back yard. It must have been an easier vacation for my overworked mother, since she had a real kitchen and even plumbing. We did get in the car for drives to a lake a few times for swimming, but I think the house was pretty isolated. One day my father took a handful of us for a walk in the woods along the path of some power lines. My father's sense of direction has always operated more on optimism than accuracy and we didn't make our way back to the house until well after dark, hours after we had left. My mother had to have been beside herself with worry, but she didn't let it show in front of us.
Then my mother's best-friend-since-high-school and her three kids started going camping with us, usually at Lakeside Pines in Maine. They were the same ages as three of us, and we all of a sudden were having even more fun on our summer vacations. Ten kids was somehow twice the fun of seven. And our mother always seemed younger when we went on these vacations. Even through our potentially difficult teen years it was all good. Those vacations are some of my favorite childhood memories.
When we had our first daughter, I wanted to recapture some of the fun from those fantastic vacations, and I booked a vacation at Lakeside Pines for our little family. Our daughter was only 11 months old, and it took some time to pack the Chevy S-10 pickup with the basic baby necessities. Fortunately there was enough room in the truck bed for everything we would need for a week in a cabin (no tent or camper for us with a baby). We were a little surprised that the entire truck was filled, but babies need STUFF. We drove the couple of hours to the campground, spouse unloaded everything from the truck, and we took the baby for a little play time at the beach. She had fun and we had fun watching her. We bought food at the campground store, we had a meal, I washed the floor of the cabin a couple of times (to no avail) because I didn't want the baby to get filthy crawling around.
"Camping" got old really quick. Once darkness fell, since there was no TV, there wasn't much to do, and when I was getting the bed set up and a giant spider ran across the mattress, I told spouse that it was the last straw and the camping vacation was over. He went to tell the office staff that we were leaving, and they said they would refund our money if they were able to rent the cabin. Spouse again loaded the truck with all the baby stuff, and we set off for home in the sprinkles, and got there some time before midnight. There's no place like home... there's no place like home. I will always remember that, in addition to all the great childhood vacations there, Lakeside Pines was where our daughter took her first steps. But I still didn't ever want to go back to the camping life; we spent our summer vacations for the next several years visiting a nice hotel on Cape Cod.
One year we skipped the campground scene and stayed at a house in Vermont. There was no beach in sight, but there were deer in the back yard. It must have been an easier vacation for my overworked mother, since she had a real kitchen and even plumbing. We did get in the car for drives to a lake a few times for swimming, but I think the house was pretty isolated. One day my father took a handful of us for a walk in the woods along the path of some power lines. My father's sense of direction has always operated more on optimism than accuracy and we didn't make our way back to the house until well after dark, hours after we had left. My mother had to have been beside herself with worry, but she didn't let it show in front of us.
Then my mother's best-friend-since-high-school and her three kids started going camping with us, usually at Lakeside Pines in Maine. They were the same ages as three of us, and we all of a sudden were having even more fun on our summer vacations. Ten kids was somehow twice the fun of seven. And our mother always seemed younger when we went on these vacations. Even through our potentially difficult teen years it was all good. Those vacations are some of my favorite childhood memories.
When we had our first daughter, I wanted to recapture some of the fun from those fantastic vacations, and I booked a vacation at Lakeside Pines for our little family. Our daughter was only 11 months old, and it took some time to pack the Chevy S-10 pickup with the basic baby necessities. Fortunately there was enough room in the truck bed for everything we would need for a week in a cabin (no tent or camper for us with a baby). We were a little surprised that the entire truck was filled, but babies need STUFF. We drove the couple of hours to the campground, spouse unloaded everything from the truck, and we took the baby for a little play time at the beach. She had fun and we had fun watching her. We bought food at the campground store, we had a meal, I washed the floor of the cabin a couple of times (to no avail) because I didn't want the baby to get filthy crawling around.
"Camping" got old really quick. Once darkness fell, since there was no TV, there wasn't much to do, and when I was getting the bed set up and a giant spider ran across the mattress, I told spouse that it was the last straw and the camping vacation was over. He went to tell the office staff that we were leaving, and they said they would refund our money if they were able to rent the cabin. Spouse again loaded the truck with all the baby stuff, and we set off for home in the sprinkles, and got there some time before midnight. There's no place like home... there's no place like home. I will always remember that, in addition to all the great childhood vacations there, Lakeside Pines was where our daughter took her first steps. But I still didn't ever want to go back to the camping life; we spent our summer vacations for the next several years visiting a nice hotel on Cape Cod.
December 5, 2009
It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year
Matching pajamas for seven children aren't all that I remember from my childhood Christmases. My mother would make caramel popcorn balls that filled the house with an aroma extraordinaire. She would also get us kids all set up on the couch with needles and thread and bowls of popcorn and cranberries for stringing. What we lacked in sewing skill we made up for in enthusiasm. First the strings would decorate the tree inside the house, then they would provide snacks for the birds on the discarded tree outside.
Another family tradition was to go for rides to see Christmas lights. There was a neighborhood in town that was worth the drive and we oohed and ahhed while our bright little eyes took it all in. And then on Christmas Eve, with our stockings hanging by the chimney with care, we would all go to our grandparents' house for the family Christmas party. The small house was filled with aunts, uncles, and cousins, and there would be wonderful food and lots of it. The chicken salad rolls and pecan pie were always my favorite. But the highlight of the night was the visit from Santa Claus. There were 22 grandchildren, and we scrambled up to sit on the carpeted staircase with the mysterious velvet curtains at the top, and waited for the man of the hour. It was crowded, it was fun, it was exciting, and once Santa came through the front door, we all got a gift. My siblings and I never got to see what was on the other side of the velvet curtains, but I heard recently that one of my cousins actually went through those curtains.
Once we had our children, we had different traditions. Going for rides to see the Christmas lights was an annual outing, and we would be fortified with snacks like popcorn and candy. To call attention to any decorations at all, the girls would call out, "my side" - easier for pre-schoolers than "left side" and "right side".
We spent many happy Christmas Eves with loved ones who lived close by in Nashua. The four cousins would scream with excitement every time they got together and Christmas was especially exciting for all of them (and us). There would be delicious party food and lots of yummy desserts. One very special Christmas Eve, the kids, ranging in age from 3 - 6 years, were all upstairs watching a movie when they heard a sound outside. They all went to the window in time to see Rudolph flying through the night skies, then rushed downstairs to tell us they had just seen Santa Claus. It was an unforgettable moment for them, and it made it easier for us to bundle our girls up and get them home to bed to await Santa's arrival.
Another family tradition was to go for rides to see Christmas lights. There was a neighborhood in town that was worth the drive and we oohed and ahhed while our bright little eyes took it all in. And then on Christmas Eve, with our stockings hanging by the chimney with care, we would all go to our grandparents' house for the family Christmas party. The small house was filled with aunts, uncles, and cousins, and there would be wonderful food and lots of it. The chicken salad rolls and pecan pie were always my favorite. But the highlight of the night was the visit from Santa Claus. There were 22 grandchildren, and we scrambled up to sit on the carpeted staircase with the mysterious velvet curtains at the top, and waited for the man of the hour. It was crowded, it was fun, it was exciting, and once Santa came through the front door, we all got a gift. My siblings and I never got to see what was on the other side of the velvet curtains, but I heard recently that one of my cousins actually went through those curtains.
Once we had our children, we had different traditions. Going for rides to see the Christmas lights was an annual outing, and we would be fortified with snacks like popcorn and candy. To call attention to any decorations at all, the girls would call out, "my side" - easier for pre-schoolers than "left side" and "right side".
We spent many happy Christmas Eves with loved ones who lived close by in Nashua. The four cousins would scream with excitement every time they got together and Christmas was especially exciting for all of them (and us). There would be delicious party food and lots of yummy desserts. One very special Christmas Eve, the kids, ranging in age from 3 - 6 years, were all upstairs watching a movie when they heard a sound outside. They all went to the window in time to see Rudolph flying through the night skies, then rushed downstairs to tell us they had just seen Santa Claus. It was an unforgettable moment for them, and it made it easier for us to bundle our girls up and get them home to bed to await Santa's arrival.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)