Those four jars of peanut butter and the four tubs of cream cheese (okay, only three are left now) represent fairly pedestrian shopping this summer on the part of my visitors.  But when it comes to vinegars, this house’s collection has definitely been enriched by some classy recent additions.

I can understand the kids not trusting the inch left in that old bottle of plain white vinegar on the right.  For all I know it dates back to the 1950s.  So  whoever feels the urge to make a salad trots off to our biggest tourist attraction, Wegman’s (Niagara Falls is second biggest.)  But they don’t seem to trust each other either, so we end up with yet another yuppie acquisition.  Raspberry, organic, Modena, wine, distilled, Tuscan, balsamic – how many things can one do with vinegar? 

When I gathered them to put away together, they looked so attractive I just had to show you.

Recovering From the Kids II

A couple of years ago I reported here on how long it takes to recover from the out-of-town visitors: things like changing back the controls on the clothes dryer, the car’s side mirrors, the microwave’s night light – locating the hair dryer and searching for my very best spatula (which, by the way, never did turn up.)  But this time there’s a new one, and it’s baffling.  My car – my new car – is now speaking German. 
I hadn’t yet figured out how to decipher most of the icons and menus on the super-modern dashboard – in fact I was toying with the idea of just sticking on some bits of black tape and ignoring the more puzzling stuff.  But now – as I re-adjusted the rear-view mirror and pulled the driver's seat forward – I discovered that somehow or other a new difficulty has arisen.  Appended herewith a few illustrations from the radio dial:

I have no idea who did this, and I can't figure out how to get English back.   Every time I press a button or move a lever, something unexpected happens.  I am damit verbunden.

 

 

Abbreviated Chickens

If you’ve been with us a while, you know I reported to you last year about the “free-ranging chicken breasts” on a restaurant menu.  I pictured plump happy chunks of white meat, frolicking in a green meadow, but I never could find the right illustration.  And now last night in a different restaurant --  “cage-free half chickens”. I see them hanging around outside the bars, reluctant to part from their other halves still imprisoned.

 Can't find the right picture for these guys either.  And anyhow – where’s the big deal in being cage free if you're  going to end up brick oven roasted anyhow?

Why No Posts?

Why none of these fascinating blog entries for the past few weeks? 
I think I posted awhile ago a suggestion for a sociologist's PhD subject -- my suspicion that many bloggers are people who live alone.  And this summer I haven't been one of them.  Right now I seize this quiet moment to give you my excuse:

Overnight guests this summer so far: 
Son A.
Cousin E.
Grandson A (three times, more to come.) 
Friend M's daughter-in-law and granddaughter. 
Granddaughter M.
Son D, daughter-in-law C.
Grandson N (one week.) 
Great-granddaughter A !! with her parents.
Daughter A, son-in-law M. 
Son-in-law M again, alone. 
Daughter A's friend L, with husband S.

All delightful guests, with just one common drawback -- while they're out getting bagels, people buy cream cheese.  My frig boasts four tubs of cream cheese.  Same, for some reason, with peanut butter.  Four jars, only two of them opened.
More visitors due later this week, so hang in there, gang.  I'll be back -- don't touch this dial! 

L'Envoie

So Thursday morning I went to a free Health Fair sponsored by Assemblyman Joe Morelle(what that means about his involvement I don't know; he wasn't there, but that's him in b&w on the brochure.)  It  was just around the corner and offered a chance to get a blood pressure reading (I'm experimenting with meds at the moment.)  Should have skipped breakfast -- there was a fine buffet set up in the back of the auditorium, fruit, bagels, the works.
 
Around the hall I picked up all sorts of stuff from the exhibitors -- imprinted pens, of course, Hershey kisses, and lots of leaflets.  What I wanted to show you was one booklet I brought home.  With a mournful mauve cover, this publication from the Federal Trade Commission seems to consist mostly of  "the funeral director must inform you..." and "don't let anyone tell you..." and "if they don't display the less expensive caskets, ask..."  But what made me chuckle was the sticker on the front cover.  I've met Representative Louise Slaughter, a cheerful capable woman of what seems even to me like advanced age, and I wonder if she really knows which publication received her sponsorship.  And if she does -- somehow "Best Wishes" doesn't seem like exactly the right sentiment here.  I've been trying to think what she might have said instead, but I'm not getting very far with that.