Tsk tsk

About the only time I regret living alone (except when the bird feeders need filling) is when I hit what my son Avi calls a "Hey Doris!" moment -- and there's no one to say "look at this!" to.  I forget what the 10th-grade teacher called it, but isn't there something wrong with the first sentence in this e-mail just received?  and from an organization that deals in the written word! - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Sorry for the delay!

As a valued member of the Democrat and Chronicle, we wanted to let you know that the delivery of today's newspaper may be delayed. We apologize for this inconvenience and appreciate your patience.

Spamalot

     You must get these emails yourself -- pleas from your nephew who is suddenly in jail in Minnesota "please don't tell my folks, just send bail", and official congratulations  about your sweepstakes award of $4,000,000 "held here in bond until you prepay the taxes".

     Of course the column invites mail from strangers, and the address appears every week in dozens of newspapers, so I end up opening all sorts of exciting propositions.  But here's a first, which arrived a couple of days ago:Attention.  I am very sorry for you, is a pity that

this is how your life is going to end as soon as you don't comply...my duty as I am mailing you now is just to KILL you and I have...already been paid...Now do you want to LIVE OR DIE?...$8,000 is all you need to spend...

It's a long message, at least 800 words, and it ends --

 

...DO NOT THINK OF CONTACTING THE POLICE OR EVEN TELLING ANYONE...SOMEONE WHO KNOWS YOU VERY WELL WANTS YOU DEAD! I WILL EXTEND IT TO YOUR FAMILY IN CASE I NOTICE SOMETHING FUNNY...

 

On the off chance "someone who you called your friend" is reading this --

                        UP YOURS!!

Stag Party

The damn stag is still out there.  Plenty of leisure for taking

pictures.  I'll start by showing you where he's standing -- using no zoom, this is my desk.  The green thingie hanging out there is a bird feeder just filled by the cleaning lady -- I'm afraid of falling now so I wait for her to do it.  Okay, you're oriented, right.  Now, for your viewing pleasure, the kind of thing my uninvited guest has been indulging in for half an hour now,   

 

stopping every now and then to give me an challenging stare as he takes a chewing break.  Maybe deer chew cud?

 
The other night I turned on the backyard spotlight and there this guy was in the dark -- but I was still blaming that horde of sparrows for emptying the feeder.
Of course it's always comforting to know that other people have worse problems (what's that word?  schadenfreude or something?  yes, I know, I could look it up.)  Here, for instance, is the photo my kids Dov and Connie received last week from their housesitter back in Vancouver -- look what's been getting at their bird feeders!

Osbert

Heading for the morning bath, I find on a top shelf a book I'd quite forgotten -- Queen Mary and Others, by Osbert Sitwell (yes, Edith's brother.)  It's a handsome hardcover, which I evidently bought for 88 cents. 
It seems to be a first edition, 1975, but alas! a quick trip to Alibris.com reveals that it's still a drug on the market -- used book stores are offering copies for 99 cents today. 
Anyhow, what I set out to show you is the footnote on page 30, which I'm having trouble photographing.  Sitwell (Sir Osbert, actually) is reporting on a luncheon party --the writing style is catching -- attended by Queen Mary, and he mentions their host's son-in-law -- if you ask me, simply as an excuse to append this brief footnote, 

*Some years later, he met a strange death, by sawing off a branch on which he was standing.

Mystery Solved

You may wonder what Fanueil Hall in Boston has to do with that mystery slab, but long ago, a restaurant in there was the first place I ever ate Indian Pudding.  And that's what Anna reminds me she made when she was here a couple of weeks ago.  Now of course I do remember.  It was great.  Tasted authentic.
We can blame the whole foo-fa-rah on small vessel ischemic cerebral atrophy, which is that white stuff on the outside of my brain that showed up on the hospital's MRI last month -- a great excuse for everything these days.  And not worth fretting about.  

 I think Anna ended up using an Internet recipe, but I know she did consult the cookbook she and Monica put together years ago.   When my sister Esther died, so many people wanted Esty's  index-card  recipes that we ended up -- in those primitive analog days --  at Kinkos. 
The epigraph below is from the Pilgrim's Hymn we always sang at Thanksgiving -- still do, if it comes to that, but for the last 20 years without Esty.

 

 

Mystery Slab

A friend asked why posts have been scanty recently -- I must confess it's gratifying that someone noticed -- and as you might have guessed, The Family was visiting from out-of-town (out-of-the-state, out-of-the-country.)  Working my way through the leftovers, and having received no response after an appeal to my recent visitors, I throw this open to all and sundry -
CAN ANYONE GIVE ME A CLUE AS TO WHAT THIS SLAB IN THE FREEZER MIGHT BE?
It's somewhat crumbly, and to my surprise a bit nipped off tastes of ginger, but no gingerbread was involved in the recent festivities, and anyhow this does not have the texture of baked goods.  Clearly it was cut with a knife there -- off a larger something...
What's interesting is that I don't seem able to eat it until I know what one is supposed to do  -- does it call for a glass of milk?  does one use a knife and fork?  should it be warmed up? grilled?  is it appropriate for breakfast?  is it a dessert?  should it be ingested in small amounts?  crumbled over ice cream?  is it safe after it's thawed?  If that dark bit isn't a raisin, what could it be?
I don't seem able to simply relax and take it on its own, somehow. 
Clearly, we've become too civilized.

*btw, that face peeping out of the corner in the first picture is, appropriately enough, Samuel Pepys -- I made the mistake of putting the Slab on my desk to take the picture, and Sam's portrait is on my mouse pad.