Two Delicious Dollars

Friday afternoon, when the last period bell rang, I was on a mission to get home and get on the couch. I wanted to stop at Big Y for a couple of slices of pizza, which would be dinner later on with a glass of Cabernet (and which cost only $1.28 each with the silver coins Amy spotted me), and find my way home as quickly as possible. I ended up making a couple more stops and buying a couple more things—like this chicken pot pie, which only cost $1.98 with a gold coin I had in my wallet.

Okay. I can’t say it was the best 2 dollars I have ever spent in my life—since I pride myself on being a bargain shopper who has had a fair amount of success finding good deals in my life—but I can say it’s the best two dollars I have spent in recent memory.

I bought it in the prepared food section, but bought it cold. The inside mixture of chicken and vegetable was fully cooked, the nice woman explained, but the crust was uncooked. It was up to me, when I was ready to eat it, to bake it to my desired doneness of the crust.

So today, when my mission was to make meatballs and get a pot of sauce going before the Patriots game, I popped it in the oven. After 30 minutes at 350 degrees, I could tell I was on my way to deliciousness. I turned up the oven to 375 and kept checking every few minutes until the flaky layers of crust separated and rose a bit and it was perfectly brown. I let it sit a few minutes while I finished making the meatballs and eventually dug in to my lunch.

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                                          Two dollars never tasted so delicious.

I Love it, I Love it NOT… Trop50…

...and artificial sweetener in general.

There was a time in my life that lunch consisted entirely of a Tab or Pepsi Light—both saccharin brands of soda that no longer exist. On the rare occasion I drink soda these days, I prefer ginger ale or root beer to diet soda, but will drink diet Coke or diet Pepsi on occasion. That’s as far as I go with artificial sweeteners in beverages—or food.

I have never enjoyed artificial sweetener in desserts or yogurt or iced tea. Crystal Light? Yuck. I admit I don’t always get moderation right, but I believe in it as much as I believe in the fact that artificial sweeteners and chemical foods are worse for me than the real deal….which leaves me looking for other ways to cut back calories.

For example, I have given up mimosas as a Sunday ritual, but last weekend was due for a little bubbly, so when I was at the grocery I thought I’d take a look at Trop50. “No artificial sweeteners” it said on the label. “50 percent less sugar and calories.”

They didn’t even get the grammar right.

I knew something was amiss when I tried it and it tasted like Tang. Hm. Well, maybe it’s better mixed, I thought. So I mixed a mini-screwdriver and it just wasn’t right. In fact, it tasted like diet Tang. I looked again at the label. There I saw it: “Reb A, True Via™ brand.”

Interesting. There’s no patent on sugar. I’ve never seen “Sugar ™.” I’ve never heard of the Stevia plant. Even if I had, as far as I’m concerned, if a sweetener has a patent, or a patented name, it’s not natural.

Looks like next time I buy orange juice, it’ll be another brand. Simply Orange orange juice, perhaps. Which really is.

Rise and Shine

I used to be in awe of my college roommate, Ashlyn, who could wake up when she needed to before the alarm went off. Did I mention this was in college? I, on the other hand, could sleep through an alarm, and did--the morning of my Molecular Biology final. Yeah. Not good. Especially since it was my major. When I finally got there, my professor had left a copy of the exam on the table in the front of the room. I found a seat in the back corner and got started. A little later she came in and, not seeing me in the corner, asked, "Did Joanne ever show up?"

Jill still laughs about my response to a doctor who asked me if I was tired. I think I was in my twenties at the time, and though I don't recall why I was there I remember exactly what my answer was. "Tired? What do you mean 'tired'? I've been tired since high school!"

Obviously in the decades that have passed my sleeping habits have changed. I rarely have any occasion to stay up after midnight and in general I try not to push myself beyond my limits. I'm a better and more patient person and teacher when I'm well rested. And despite often waking in the dark for school, about which I have lamented more than once, I--like Ashlyn now-- can often beat my alarm clock in the morning.

But not today.

I woke up to the Nor'easter that had been forecast days ago. When my alarm clock went off, it was pitch black and I could hear the rain ticking away on the sky light over my bed. I got up and hit snooze. Five minutes later it was still black out. And still raining. I hit snooze again. Somehow I eventually made it out of bed, but I'd rather be back there. "Not gonna lie," Jill. I'm tihed.

Some days it's hard to rise without the shine.

I Love it, I Love it NOT...Frost

Okay, I said I was ready for fall. I celebrated. I’m good with the smells, the colors, the cooler temperatures, the accompanying nesting. But frost? I’m not ready for frost on October 13. In fact, while I’m venting, let me say I’m never ready for frost. There’s nothing worse than getting out to my car—just barely on schedule—and having to wait for the car to defrost. If I try to hurry along the process and squirt windshield wash, I end up with what looks like a blue Slurpee--or like a Smurf spit up--on my window. Frost is nothing but a nuisance.

I do not [heart] frost. I hate it.

Pumpkin Palooza

 It happens every year. After a long and wonderful summer vacation, I go back to school. Wearing Capris and sandals, I watch what remains of summer from my classroom window, wishing the school was air-conditioned. A few weeks later, it becomes imperative to watch the weather, not knowing from day to day how to dress, while New England waffles on whether or not it wants to change seasons.

While the weather undergoes its identity crisis, I start slowly making my transition. One week I might make chili. I buy apples. I buy a pumpkin spice candle. I start wearing fuzzy socks. My favorite fleece blanket comes out of storage. I wear closed-toed shoes. (Reluctantly, I might add.)(Begrudgingly.) I go to Vermont with the girls and get inspired by the foliage. I find myself in a long-sleeved t-shirt and pajama pants and said fuzzy socks while watching the evening news. Fall blooms fill my vase, and pumpkin decorations find their way onto my coffee table. I finally light the pumpkin spice candle. Eventually there is no turning back. Even the warmest of days won’t warrant sandals, despite a new fall pedicure, and I embrace fall.

Yesterday I celebrated. As I watched TV and read in the late afternoon, enjoying the scent of my pumpkin spice candle while I sipped a pumpkin spice martini, I decided to bake some pumpkin bread. From scratch. Garnished with pepitas.

My very own Pumpkin Palooza.

Happy Fall!

[Heart] Note...to Fresh Ground Coffee

My first Krups coffee grinder was a Crate and Barrel employee purchase, back in the late eighties. I LOVED it. The difference was night and day.

Yet somehow I got away from it. Maybe it was when I started teaching and took a 50 percent pay cut and couldn’t justify the splurge, or maybe it was because for a brief time at the beginning of my teaching career I lived with my parents who, although they drink coffee says mine puts hair on their chest. I had found a canned brand that I liked enough, and had a stove top espresso maker for the occasions I wanted something other than mediocre coffee.

And then the price of canned coffee increased while the size of the cans decreased. I’m not sure if there were ever 16 ounces in one, but the average size now is 10.5 ounces. Reading flyers and clipping coupons and stocking up on canned coffee when it was on sale seemed, well, wrong. Ridiculous. Trader Joe’s offered an alternative, their own brand of joe that came whole bean in a 16 ounce container—which they touted in big letters on the poster that caught my attention. I used the grinder in the aisle and was on my way. Take that, [National Brand]! I thought.

And then, the second time I bought my coffee at Trader Joe’s I decided it was time to find my grinder, or buy a new one. The third time I bought my coffee and noticed the container was only 14 ounces, I got good and pissed off and stopped making the trip to TJs for coffee. I’ve been experimenting with different brands of whole bean coffee, grinding it home ever since.

There really is nothing like scooping my medium roast Colombian coffee beans into the grinder, pushing the button, and taking off the lid. I don’t think the coffee ever makes it to my coffee maker (cone drip, of course) without stopping in front of my nose for a nice, long whiff. Ever.

I really love fresh ground coffee. In fact, I [heart] it.

The Great Equalizer

Donna has a regular schedule of chemotherapy treatments: Tuesday, Friday, Tuesday, Friday, then an off week, then Tuesday, Friday, Tuesday, Friday, and an off week, etc. On Tuesdays she gets one IV bag of chemotherapy and one IV bag of the clinical trial drug;on Fridays she gets chemotherapy only. In between the two weeks of chemotherapy she gives herself shots to boost her white blood cell production. On the off weeks between chemotherapy cycles, she usually has scans to measure the progress—so far the success!—of the treatments.

Not everyone at Infusion on Tuesdays and Fridays is on the same drug or in the clinical trial as Donna, but we have come to know, or at least recognize, the regulars. There is the African American woman in her late fifties whose Jewish husband accompanies her. Another African American woman, who is an employee of the hospital, has coworkers stopping by all day for a few minutes at a time. There is the woman, Indian I believe, also probably in her fifties, who is accompanied by her sister--who could be her twin, they look so much alike!  And there is the woman Donna’s age, also Caucasian, with whom Donna shared stories and is now friendly, who has a 7 year old and a 10 year old at home, and who drives herself there from New York, on the exact same schedule as Donna. Yesterday I was so glad to see that she had a friend with her. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone there with her! And I don’t know how she does that drive herself. Sadly, there was a newcomer yesterday, ten years younger than Donna and I, from the Bronx. She was with her mother.

So I stand corrected that potty humor is the great equalizer. Cancer is. There are people out there, although I don't know many (any) of them, who would not get a laugh out of a whoopee cushion, who go through life thinking that one of the things that separates them from people like me is immaturity/being crass/potty humor, Blah Blah. I say, go ahead, then, think we're different. But in the end we're not. Stop by Infusion someday at a cancer hospital, where I hope you never find yourself on the receiving end of an IV line, where despite differences in race or class or age or favorite brand of humor, every one is the same: human beings fighting cancer: the great, but evil, equalizer...where a whoopee cushion--or the laugh that follows--might be the best thing a person hears all day.

October is Breast Cancer Awareness month. I encourage you to reach out to someone with cancer, to share a laugh. And make an appointment for a mammogram if you’re due.