My son and I were the last ones left, the other members of his high school cross country team had left to head back to the team tents, their spikes clacking across the parking lot.  The girls race had just begun and the finish area would soon be filling up, the scene repeating itself multiple times through the day as different divisions raced in the state finals.  Luke was freezing, the JV teammate who held his warmups after the start had been delayed getting to the finish line area and now my sons teeth were chattering as he stood shivering in his varsity jacket that had somehow appeared before his warmups.  His legs and backside were muddy, his fingers frozen as I gave him my winter gloves to put on.

Even though he’s been doing it for 3 years, race days can be difficult.  A gentle reminder to hydrate and double check his duffel bag usually brings a withering glare and a snappish “I know what I’m doing” response.  My sons a good runner but not great, and although his team has been to 20 straight state finals, they weren’t expected to finish in the top 10.  It had been an emotional race and finish, I could see it in his eyes and face, his cheeks red from the cold and exertion.  He said at the start line he was thinking about his 2 senior teammates who were running in their last race, their last time they would be wearing the school colors, the last time he would run with them as “brothers.”  He said he thought about all the miles they had put in, the long runs, the speed work that made their lungs burn, the fun times at training camp staying up late.  They had won some races this year as a team and had also had some disappointment.

The race had gone as expected, the boys ran hard, some doing better than they expected others not.  Luke had done well cutting a minute off his time from the year before, and the team had a respectable top 15 finish.  But as Luke crossed the finish line he could see his one teammate had collapsed after finishing, and Luke and another teammate had helped carry him to an ambulance for medical treatment.  The boys were worried, they had never seen any of their teammates collapse during a run, incoherent at the finish.  They huddled as one around the ambulance waiting for word on their teammate not wanting to leave, not caring about the results of the race, not caring that it had begun to snow and they were standing there in shorts and tank tops, and whatever heat they had generated from running was quickly evaporating off their bodies.  Word came from inside the ambulance that he was going to be alright, he needed to get warm and drink some fluids.  The boys began hugging each other and wiping their eyes as they slowly made their way out of the finish area.

The finish area of a race can be a chaotic scene.  I liken it to the platform of a train station upon arrival of a train.  Passengers spill out of the train, scanning the crowd for a familiar face.  There’s joyous yelling and hugging, as family and friends find their loved ones.  People mill about for 5-10 minutes before moving along and the platform becomes quiet again until the next train pulls in.  Add in some disappointment, confusion, and occasionally at least one runner bent over throwing up, and you have the finish area after a cross country race.

The wind whipped through the area underneath the stands, a lone disinterested security guard sat with her back to us, bundled up to ward off the cold, probably wishing she could be anywhere but there.  Somehow, we ended up being the last ones in the finish area and my son slowly put his warmups back on.  He lingered for a moment, looking back toward the finish line, almost not wanting to leave.  He’s a junior and next year when this scene repeats itself, he’ll have run his last high school cross country race.  I don’t know if he was thinking about that at that moment, but I was, and I’m not sure who’s dreading that moment more.  Neither one of us said anything for a long time as we slowly walked across the parking lot, his spikes clacking against the concrete.

 

I’ve never really liked shopping at those big, warehouse mega stores.  When they first came out, the idea was that you paid a yearly membership fee, and then you shopped there and saved money by buying the stuff you need in bulk.  I’m always a bit suspicious about this idea of saving money by buying in bulk, and even though they kindly inform you on your receipt that today “you saved $46.29,” I don’t feel like I really saved anything when I just spent $200.  Now if I had just spent $46.29 and had saved $200, well then that would be a different story, but it never works out like that.

One of my problems is that the quantities are so large I’m not sure anybody needs the sizes their selling.  I mean does anybody really need a 20lb. bag of pretzels or a barrel of pickles, or 1000 vitamins.  Even if you had more than one person in your household taking a daily vitamin you would still have enough vitamins for a year and does anybody really need to have enough vitamins for a year sitting in their cupboard.

And I know that many of the people who shop there own small business’ or restaurants and they take advantage of the bulk buying, but I’m guessing that number is actually quite small.  I also realize that these stores have branched out and have become more than just a store to sell grotesquely large quantities of food.

At my local store, I can get a prescription filled at their pharmacy, have some new tires put on my car, get a hearing test, buy a cell phone, get pictures developed and even get an eye test and new glasses.  I also could buy some patio furniture, a grill, a kids outdoor play set, blue jeans and even a new best selling book.  Now this might just be my own personal preference, but I prefer to shop at a book store for my books and not at a store where I can also get free samples of mini sausages.  And while I see all these services being used when I shop there, I’m betting that the majority of people are there for the food, the household items and the free sausages.

I see these stores as a representation of our over spending, over eating, over consuming, throw away American culture.  But that’s not even the real reason I dislike shopping at these stores, no the real reason has to do with bananas…and a podcast.

I love listening to podcasts, especially on my commute to work, even more than listening to music on the radio.  In my weekly rotation are podcasts about news and current events, sports, comedy and one of my favorites is a strength and conditioning podcast called “the industrial strength show” hosted by a self proclaimed “New Jersey meathead” named Joe Defranco.  This podcasts gives great information about strength and conditioning, nutrition and even business advice, all dispensed in an entertaining manner.  And it just so happened that at the end of one of the episodes the host gave a tip about buying bananas that he said would change our lives, and quite frankly he was right.

For as long as I can remember I’ve been buying bananas like most people, perusing the bananas for a few seconds and then buying a bunch that looks pretty good, you know not too many yellow ones, not too many green ones.  But what usually happens is that by the end of the week I always had a couple of brown bananas that were too soft and mushy to enjoy even if I smeared Nutella on them.  Long time readers of this blog will notice that I have once again managed to work a Nutella reference into a blog post…ahem moving on. Although I hate throwing food away, the soft, brown bananas would usually get thrown out or perhaps if I had enough time on the weekend, I might make a loaf of banana bread.

But at the end of the podcast the host advised that there was no rule that said you had to buy all your bananas from the same bunch, and the proper way to buy bananas was to pick out a couple of yellow ones from a bunch that are ready to be eaten today and tomorrow, then pick out a couple of yellowish/greenish ones from another bunch that’ll be ready in a couple of days, and then from another bunch pick a couple of green ones that will be ready by the end of the week.  And by simply doing that you’ll always have a perfectly ripe banana ready to be eaten.

Boom, mind blown, life changed.  How could this be life changing advice you ask dear reader.  I’ll tell you……no longer do I throw away bananas at the end of the week, nor am I making as much banana bread, and if you’ve seen me with my shirt off lately you’ll know this is a good thing…less brown bananas, means less banana bread.

Which brings us back to my local warehouse mega store.  I just so happened to need a few items last week and one of them was bananas.  To my utter dismay they do not allow you to pick and choose individual bananas from bunches.  All their banana bunches are wrapped in tape thereby nullifying the picking one from this bunch, two from this bunch.  I stood there for a moment dumbfounded, contemplating what to do, it had been over a year since I had to buy bananas like this.  How could this be? How could they be limiting my choice?  Don’t they listen to the same podcast I listen too?

I was hesitant to rip the tape off of multiple bunches of bananas just to satisfy my banana buying tendencies.  Reluctantly I bought a bunch of bananas all taped together, and invariably, and I suppose inevitably it’s the end of the week and sure enough I have some brown, soft bananas that are perfect for banana bread.

So this dear reader is the real reason I dislike the membership warehouse, mega store.  Their view of everyone buying items the same way.  Their idea that we all need 100 snack size bags of chips and 25lbs. of chicken wings, their idea that we all just mindlessly push around a shopping cart loading up on stuff we really don’t need, in quantities nobody should be buying.  And yes their prohibiting the individuality of buying bananas by picking and choosing ones from different bunches….this is my problem with the membership warehouse, mega store.

Now, if you’ll excuse me I have some banana bread to make, and I also purchased a 10lb. jar of Nutella (again with the Nutella reference?) I mean everyone needs a 10lb jar of Nutella, right?  Also, I have a podcast to listen to about how to work off the banana bread and Nutella that I’ll be consuming this week.

 

People tell you who they are

but we ignore it, because we

want them to be who we want them to be

 

I’ve been thinking about the concepts of “letting go” and “moving on” and whether you can do one without the other.

It’s hard to let go of something, really hard for me.  I never let go of anything because it signifies an ending, and I hate endings mainly because they mean that something bad has happened.  And I always think I could have done more, could have tried harder, could have said something, anything to not reach that point.  There’s 24 hours in a day and I always think I could do more.

If something disappoints you maybe it’s time to look at your relationship with it.  Maybe it’s time to back off and reevaluate it. Maybe it’s time to “move on”….

“Moving on” seems like it could be temporary.  Kind of looking at things differently and taking a break from something.  If it’s meaningful then perhaps someday you’ll come back to it.  Kind of like I’m changing some things, some habits but not totally “letting go.”

Actually that seems kind of foolish, when you “move on” you should “move on” and not look back.  Look forward and find things that bring you joy, not wallow in continual disappointment.  Yes, “moving seems just as permanent as “letting go”

By “letting go” do you suddenly have no expectations and thereby no disappointment and are free to enjoy whatever happens?

If you “let go” of something, can you ever get it back?

If you “let go” is it replaced by something else?

If you “let go” of hope is it replaced by its opposite, hopelessness?  Is hopelessness worse than hope unfulfilled? Can you ever go back?  If you “move on” in a relationship is it ever the same?

If you “let go” of hope and its replaced by hopelessness, but you’re able to “let go” of hopelessness then what do you have?  Do you have nothing and then whats the point of anything if you have nothing?

It was a hot July day, the air was still, no wind or gentle breeze to bring any sort of relief. I was on a dusty, gravel road, driving to my next delivery.  I was 2 dirt roads off a main road, not another car in sight.  The intersections out here don’t even have road signs because if you’re out here, you know where you are.

Sometimes on these dirt roads I’ll get behind some farmer driving his big combine down the road and the thing takes up the whole road and I can’t even pass him.  Today there were no tractors or combines on the roads, nothing to get in my way, also nothing to break the monotony of the rows of corn that bordered the road.  In every respect it felt like I was in the middle of nowhere.  I wasn’t expecting to see what I saw at the next house, especially way out here.  It was something that I saw less and less of with each passing year.  I drove past it before I even realized what it was, I slowly backed up, parked at the end of the driveway and bounded out of my truck enthusiastically.  I practically shouted….. “this is just what I’ve been looking for.”   And in a way it was for here on this dusty, hot dry gravel road, was a little girl and her lemonade stand.

I don’t know if it’s because times change and kids have other things to do, or if it’s more that parents don’t want their kids to do it anymore, but lemonade stands are becoming a thing of the past, a Norman Rockwell slice of Americana of a bygone era.  I always try to stop at them and I’ve always been the only person there.  I’m not saying I’m an expert about lemonade stands, but I’ve found most lemonade stands follow the same pattern.  It’s almost always a little girl or two little girls, rarely a boy.  I think I’ve been to one lemonade stand that had a boy at it, and I’m guessing it was because his sister somehow convinced him to do it and maybe even told him that they’d….. “make a lot of money.”

I like to imagine the conversation in the morning that precedes the set-up.  The little girl announces she wants to do a lemonade stand.  The parent initially resists because they don’t have the necessary supplies, lemonade and cups.  Finally the parent relents because they figure at least the child is doing something on their own and they’re out of the house for the afternoon, then perhaps a quick trip to the store to buy the supplies.  There’s usually a dusty, wobbly card table drug up from the basement or out of the garage.  A homemade sign usually in black marker made from an old cardboard box, taped to the card table.  There might even be a misspelled word on the sign, and in one instance of either clever marketing or a rather cute mistake, the sign was hung upside down on the table.

The lemonade is usually pre-made in a pitcher, the ice long since melted.  Although, I remember one memorable encounter when I must have been the first customer of the day, even though it was late afternoon, when the young girl had to peel off the inner safety liner on the powdered canister of lemonade.  She then intently read the directions, for it seemed like minutes, as she pondered whether to make an entire pitcher just for me, or just a glass.  In the end she made just a glass for me but she followed the directions for making a pitcher.  I gamely swallowed it in one gulp and bravely asked for another cup and watched her again dump multiple scoops of powder into the cup.  I always get more than one cup, although that occasion did make me question my multiple cup buying habit.  There also seems to be a certain age of all the lemonade stand proprietors.  The little girls all seem to be from about 7 years old, up to about 12 years old.  Much like an athlete is most productive during his 20’s, the prime age of lemonading seems to be those pre-teen years.

This lemonade stand had all the usual elements, small girl, homemade sign, old card table.  If the key to business success is location, location, location, well then this lemonade stand was in serious trouble.  Did I mention that it felt like I was in the middle of nowhere?  The cardboard sign said that the lemonade was 2 for $1.  I quickly took out a dollar and placed my order for 2 cups.  The little girl was all smiles as she poured the lemonade into the cup.  She told me it was…. “fresh, because I just made it today.”  In fact it was pretty good and then I had an idea.  I carry a reusable water bottle with me so I went to my truck and dumped out the rest of the water and asked the little girl how much would it be to fill up my bottle.  She thought for a moment and then said $2.  I told her that if she would fill it up for me I would giver her $5.  Her eyes were as big as saucers and her smile wide as she poured the lemonade.  I looked up as she was filling my bottle and her mother was on the porch watching our transaction.  I gave her a wave as I headed back to my truck and the last I saw of the girl, she was running up the driveway to her mother with the money in her hand.

It didn’t even bother me when a short time later, a farmer pulled out in front of me in a combine that took up the whole road.  I had a bottle of lemonade to drink, from a little girl with a wobbly card table and a homemade sign.  It was “fresh, made that day.”  The proprietor told me so.

Thought for the day…..

Always stop at lemonade stands no matter how busy you are.

 

 

 

The text came through just as I was about to punch out and head home.  I silently groaned because at this time of day it really only meant one thing.  I didn’t even need to look at it because I was sure it began with…..

“Can you stop and pick up”……..and then it would list 1 or 2 grocery items that we were either out of, or running low on and needed immediately.  Usually it was milk or lettuce or some other vegetable we used in our nightly salad.  Sometimes it’s some item that my teenage son just absolutely needs, and although I ask him every week before I go shopping if there’s anything he’s running low on or out of, sometimes the text is that he needs soap or deodorant.  And if you know about the various smells of a growing, active teenage boy you’ll also know that it is kind of an emergency if they are out of soap or deodorant.

The text was the standard variety…milk, lettuce, cucumber and colored peppers.  I sighed, this typically happens at least once a week and at that time of day, I just wanted to get home, get out of my uniform, forget about work and get on with my evening.  Also by that time of day I’m usually hungry, and the worst place to be when you’re hungry is a grocery store.  Additionally, the store is usually crowded with people like myself, on their way home but needing to stop for just 1 or 2 items, which means the checkouts are backed up and even the self-checkouts are busy, clogged with people who are having problems using them.

It was with great annoyance that I entered the store that day, my mood worsening as I realized I had entered the wrong side of the store.  I had entered the general merchandise side of the store and would have to walk all the way over to the grocery side.  I’m always amazed at the little things that can annoy me.  Days later I’ll think back and wonder why such a silly thing had me annoyed, but I was tired and hungry and self-reflection wasn’t happening at that moment.  I was trudging my way over to the grocery side, weaving past the mothers pushing carts with kids in them and the older people riding the store scooters.  I walked past the display barely noticing it and only stopping once I was about 5 feet past.  I retraced my steps and stood in front of a display of kites.

I instantly was taken back to my childhood.  My father would buy my sister and I a kite every spring and since we lived out in the country we could fly it right in our yard. We’d wait for a windy day and then launch it, taking turns holding it trying to get it higher.  Sometimes we’d add more string to it to get it really high and watch it dip and swoon.  Eventually, the kite would swoon too much and land in the trees or power lines, or the wind would be too strong, the string would break and the kite would go sailing away on the jet stream.  We’d try to follow it to retrieve it but I don’t ever remember finding a kite after it broke away.  We’d trudge back home tired, a little disappointed, our faces wind whipped.  This kind of became a spring tradition, kite flying.

I stood in front of the display, since it was already the middle of May, the kites were marked down on clearance.  All of them were under $5 and some of them were only $2.  I knew I would buy one, and after much deliberation, really way too much deliberation, I settled on a Batman kite.  I was sure this one would fly high and true, after all it was Batman and he wouldn’t let me down, he never lets anyone down, he’s Batman.

My wife was less than impressed with my kite purchase, she was just happy I remembered the vegetables so she could finish with dinner prep.  I put the kite in the garage and promptly forgot about for a week.  There were track meets to attend and Mothers Day flowers to buy.  But one afternoon I noticed the wind had picked up, it was then that I remembered about the kite.  After dinner I quickly assembled the kite, pulled my son away from his phone and headed to the front yard.  We were slightly delayed as upon seeing the kite my son declared that Batman was “the lamest of superheroes.”  This led to a very brief discussion on superhero rankings, but since I really wanted to fly the kite and not discuss superheroes, I told him to just hold the kite until I was ready.

A moment later we launched, the kite caught a gust of wind and rose as I let out more line.  It dipped, it swooned and then fluttered harmlessly to the ground.  Looking at the flagpole I noticed the wind was no longer blowing as hard, the flag hung limply on the pole.  We tried again, and the kite once again fluttered to the ground.  My son tried, the results were the same.  We trudged back to garage and vowed to try again on the next windy day.

DAY 2

I usually check the weather app on my phone when I awaken.  I work outside so I like to know how to dress for the day, whether I should wear shorts or pants, should I grab my raincoat.  Now I was checking to see the wind conditions for the day.  Light and variable winds were forecasted, sounds nice but not for kite flying.

DAY 3

Waiting

I wondered what the Wright brothers did when they were waiting at Kitty Hawk for favorable winds.

DAY 4

Still waiting, but I did notice that a severe thunderstorm was forecasted for Sunday with 15-25 mph winds. Sounds promising.  I seemed to recall a story from history class about Ben Franklin, a kite, a key and a thunderstorm.  Could history repeat itself?

SUNDAY

A beautiful morning with the wind increasing by the hour.  Finally in the afternoon I checked my weather app, the radar looked ominous, the storm would hit in about an hour.  Now was the time.  My son was working, my wife lay disinterested on the couch napping.  I would have to do this myself.  The skies were darkening, the winds fierce, the kite went up quickly.  I was immediately concerned the string would break or the kite would be torn apart by the wind.  I should have been more concerned about the flagpole because the kite caught a gust of wind and swooned right into it.  It was unharmed and I moved farther out in the yard.  Soon I had let out all the line and the kite danced on the wind, its tail fluttering.  It did a couple of nosedives, but I saved it from crashing and I was beginning to get the hang of it as I steered it right then left.  My son soon pulled in the driveway, the kite swooned and almost hit his car, he rolled down the window and informed me there was a tornado warning and that a funnel cloud had been spotted in a neighboring town about 10 minutes away.  The skies were dark, the winds were blowing hard, but I didn’t want to stop.  Did the Wright Brothers stop because of a little bad weather?  Did Ben Franklin put his kite away in the face of a thunderstorm?  I was pondering all this when I heard the warning sirens, and I decided that caution was the better part of valor, so I quickly rolled up the line.  As I reached the garage, the skies opened and the rains began.

I flew a kite the other day, just as I did when I was a kid.  It was fun, perhaps not as fun as when I was a kid, but then again, I’m not a kid anymore.  But sometimes it’s good to do something you used to do when you were a kid just to have that feeling again, if only for a little while.

 

 

 

It had been a long, stressful weekend and there was something I needed.  Even though I hated to do it I called the number of my contact.  She acted like she was expecting my call, expecting my need.

“I knew you’d be callin” she answered not bothering with any pleasantries.  “How many you want?”

“Just one” I replied

“Uh huh, c’mon now I know you better than that, it’s Monday and I can set you up for the week.”

“No, no just one this week, I’m cutting back”

I tried to sound confident about this but I’m pretty sure I didn’t.

“Usual spot, and bring cash, exact change if you got it, I gots no time to be makin change, I gots other people to get to this morning, people buying more than just one” she barked into the phone.

“I’ll be there in 15” I said and then hung up.

I had just enough time to make it to the meet up spot, a parking lot of an abandoned factory on the other side of town and then make it to work.

She was already there waiting for me in her black Escalade.  She opened the back hatch, and sure enough there they were, boxes of them, cases of them.

“You sure about just one box this week,” she questioned always looking to sell more.  “You know, by the end of the month they’ll be gone till next year and then whatcha goin do?”

I was looking forward to the end of the month, when I could finally stop this nonsense, when I could no longer feed this craving.

“I’m serious this time, you’re not going to be hearing from me again this month.”  Again I tried to sound confident, I think I may have even puffed out my chest a little as I said that.

“Honey, I hear that all the time, uh huh that’s what they all say, ALL THE TIME” she spoke these last three words slowly for emphasis. I glanced around quickly to see if anybody was watching us, then I reached into my pocket and handed her the folded up money. She didn’t bothering counting it, barely even glanced at it as she tucked it down the front of her shirt and handed me a box.

“I’m losing your number, deleting you from my phone,” my voice now more confident than ever.  But I heard her laughing hysterically as she sped out of the parking lot, off to make another sale.  I stood there in a parking lot of an abandoned factory on the other side of town, a little lighter in my wallet but in possession of what she had sold me…I had a box of my favorite girl scout cookies.

According to the Girl Scout web site, cookies have been sold as early as 1917 when a troop in Oklahoma began baking and selling cookies as a fundraiser for troop activities. In 1933 the Girl Scouts of Greater Philadelphia baked cookies and sold them in the city’s gas and electric company’s windows.  Back then a box of 44 cookies sold for just 23 cents.  And in a sign of changing times, I remember hearing about an enterprising young girl scout who set up a table to sell cookies out in front of a marijuana dispensary in Colorado, which might have been the first time girl scout cookies and marijuana was used in the same sentence, or not.

I vowed to make my box of Thin Mints, which are the most popular cookie, last as long as I could.  Thin Mints have two sleeves of cookies with 16 cookies in each sleeve, so I was pretty confident I could make them last a week.  The first night I had 3 cookies, the next night I had 4 cookies quickly followed by 4 more.  I then hid them in the back of the pantry behind a box of elbow noodles.  I wasn’t hiding them from anyone else in my family, as I am the only one who eats that cookie, my wife likes the Samoas, I was hiding them from myself, out of sight, out of mind.

The next night I remembered one of my favorite things to do is put some of them in the freezer and have some frozen Thin Mints.  I hid some behind the Haagen-Dazs ice cream, which probably wasn’t the best thing to do as I now was thinking about two things, frozen Thin Mints and chocolate Haagen-Dazs. Then I remembered an opened jar of hot fudge in the refrigerator and well let me tell you that’s a pretty good combination, frozen Thin Mints, Haagen-Dazs and hot fudge.

It was near the end of the month, my phone rang.  I recognized the number immediately, it was my cookie contact.  I stared at the phone, thought about not answering it, but I knew I had to answer  it or else she would keep badgering me with her cookies.

“Hello,” I answered.

“Honey, its the end of the month and I got what you need.”

“Don’t you ever say hello?” I asked.

“Listen, I got no time for hello’s or goodbyes, I gotta know how many you want cuz after this week they’re gone for the rest of the year. Now, if you want I could come by your house and drop some off, and then….”

“No”….I cut her off, I didn’t need my neighbors seeing me buying stuff from the back of a black Escalade.

“Listen, I’m good, in fact I still have some left-over from last week.”  It was true, my plan of hiding them had worked reasonably well.

A brief moment of silence from the other end and then her voice softened.

“Well, well, well look it at you, being all grown-up like, not needing me anymore.  Are you still gonna keep my number for next year?”

I chuckled softly,

“Ya, I’ll still keep it for next year, you’re still my cookie contact.”

She chuckled this time…

“Well then, I guess this is goodbye till next year.”

“Wait, I thought you didn’t say goodbye?”

“Next year honey, I might even say hello…” and with that I heard her laugh hysterically as she hung up the phone.

I went to the pantry and pulled out my box of Thin Mints, there were still two left.  I put them in the freezer next to the chocolate Haagen-Daz.  I knew in about 1 hour the cool hardness of the cookies and ice cream would contrast well with the hot fudge.  I’m telling you that’s a killer combination.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I’ve come to the conclusion that I have a slight problem with Nutella.  Yes Nutella, that creamy hazelnut cocoa spread.  I’ve been consuming a lot of it lately.  It started off innocently enough by just spreading some on my banana in the morning.  That was so tasty I tried it on an apple that I cut up, and that was equally as delicious.  If you think I’m limiting my consumption to fruit, well you’re wrong.  I discovered that by toasting a couple of frozen waffles and then putting chunky peanut butter on one waffle and Nutella on the other, the result is a waffle sandwich that should be served in fine restaurants.

It all seemed fairly harmless, at least I thought as I was only using it in the morning, and only on breakfast foods.  Lately though I’ve been eating it right from the jar one knifeful at a time.  I realized this might be a problem as I wandered into the bedroom the other night, jar of Nutella and knife in hand.  I actually had no idea why I was walking around carrying Nutella from room to room.  My wife was reading a book in bed and normally it would take a minor catastrophe like the house burning down to get her attention, but she happened to notice the jar and knife so she inquired what I was planning to do with it.  At that moment it suddenly struck me I could do a bunch of things with Nutella in the bedroom and if she just waited a minute while I also got some whipped cream I would show her what I planned to do.  I don’t believe I’ll ever forget the two words she spoke to me that night.  She said “Get out” and since she didn’t also throw any luggage at me I assumed she just meant the bedroom and not the house.

I went back to the living room, knife and Nutella still in hand.  As I sat on the couch and speared out a knifeful, I began reading the back of the label.  The first ingredient is sugar and I’ve always heard if the first ingredient is sugar you should spit it out and throw away whatever it is your eating.  But at this point I was in too deep, both in the jar and with my craving.  I also noticed that you can follow Nutella on Twitter, Facebook, Pinterest and Instagram.  Ha I thought, what kind of fool would follow Nutella on social media, but I was hooked, I had to check it out.  I looked up their Instgram page and quite frankly it’s Nutella porn.  I knew I shouldn’t be watching it but I couldn’t look away.  So many uses for this creamy delisciosness.  Whoever thought of spreading Nutella on Oreo cookies, well kudos to you my friend.  And using it as a frosting for brownies and then throwing some M & M’s on top of that, well hello sugar overload.

I don’t want you to think that I’m unique in my appreciation for Nutella.  I happened to remember a story of some rioting somewhere over Nutella.  A quick Google search confirmed my thinking.  It was in France, yes France, more known for their wine and cheese and culinary expertise but yet according to NPR, there was a run on Nutella last January when a grocery chain slashed the price from $5.60 to about $1.75.  Again according to NPR, “hundreds of French citizens lost their savoir faire driven to desperation by a 70% drop in price.  One video showed a throng of people rushing to collect as many jars as they could carry.”

According to the daily paper Le Progress there were “riot scenes everywhere.”  I watched the one video and I must say it is a bit of a stretch to describe this as a riot scene.  It certainly is no worse than Walmart on black Friday when there’s big screen TV’s on sale.  Although another paper Le Parisien said that “police were called after customers came to blows in the frenzy.”  A store manger described the customers as “aggressive and trying to tear the pots out and menacing us.”  At this point I happen to wonder if it was a slow news day in France as even I think this seems to have received an inordinate amount of coverage.  I mean this is a country where it’s citizens once stormed the Bastille to ignite a revolution and now there storming the aisles of grocery stores for Nutella.

I had reached the end, the knife was scraping bottom, the sugar crash was coming hard, and although I’m reasonably certain I’ll never be involved in a stampede for Nutella, I knew I couldn’t continue like this.  I vowed to go a week without Nutella and then reevaluate my situation. If only I had the will power to un-follow their Instagram page.

A mom went shopping the other day.  It was a day in early December and she was picking up some Christmas presents for her family.  The stores were crowded with other shoppers but she was in a good mood humming along to the Christmas music playing in the background.  At the checkout she bought 1 candy cane to give to her youngest daughter.  Her daughter, Molly, had blonde hair and blue eyes, and she was just at that age where she loved everything about Christmas.

The little girl squealed in delight when she saw the candy cane and wanted to open it immediately, but it was too close to dinner and the mom didn’t want her to have candy before dinner so she told her daughter to save it for later.  Molly said she would save it for the next day and take it to school.

All during the morning the little girl was finding it hard to pay attention to her school lessons.  She kept thinking about the candy cane she would have at lunch.  During her math lesson she made her 11’s look like candy canes, during her vocabulary she hoped one of the words was candy cane but it wasn’t, but she added it to her list anyhow.  She even told her best friend about her candy cane, and then she told her she would give her a piece because that’s what best friends are for, to share candy canes with.

Finally it was lunch time and Molly hurried to the lunch room and excitedly unpacked her lunch.  Her best friend, Emily, wanted to open the candy cane first, but Molly said they should eat their lunches first and save the candy for last.  So that’s what they did and it sat on the table between them.

But they forgot about Mark Snell…Mark Snell was a couple of years older and he was big and mean and he never packed his own lunch.  Instead Mark Snell would take food from other people’s lunches, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich from Joey and a pudding cup from Mary and if anybody had any candy Mark Snell was sure to find it and take some of it.  Just as Molly was finishing her lunch and about to open her candy cane, Mark Snell appeared behind her and snatched it out of her hand.

“Give it back” wailed the little girl, but Mark Snell never gave anything back especially candy.  He held the candy cane just out of the little girl’s reach even as she tried to jump up and take it back.  In fact Mark Snell laughed at the little girl and he had a particularly evil laugh, the kind you always remember even when you grow up and never see Mark Snell again, you remember his laugh. Just then the school bell rang and all the kids began packing up their things and heading off to their next class, and the little girl was left standing there, sad for she had not gotten a chance to eat her candy cane.

Mark Snell knew he couldn’t eat the candy cane in class so he put it in his backpack.  He decided he would eat it after school in his bedroom while he was playing video games.  Mark Snell’s two favorite things to do were play video games and eat candy.  His hands and fingers were always sticky or chocolatey and he always wiped them on his shirt or pants or if he was playing video games in his bedroom, he would wipe them on the bedspread because that’s what boys like Mark Snell do.

But Mark Snell didn’t get a chance to eat the candy cane because his friend invited him over to play video games at his house, and his friend had the new zombie killer video game and if there were three things Mark Snell liked it was candy, video games and killing zombies in video games.  He was so excited about going to his friends house to kill zombies he totally forgot about the candy cane as he threw his backpack across the kitchen floor where it skidded and then thudded into his mom’s leg as she stood in the kitchen doing the dishes.  She yelled after him to “come back here and pick up this backpack before you go anywhere,” but it was no use, Mark Snell was on his way to his friends house to kill zombies and perhaps wipe his sticky fingers on his friends bedspread.

Mark Snell’s mother sighed and asked her daughter, Joy, to pick up her older brothers backpack and take it to his room.  She didn’t really want to pick up her older brothers backpack but she knew better than to say no to her mom when her mom was busy in the kitchen, so she trudged down the hall dragging the backpack behind her.  His backpack was really heavy and she struggled to lift it on to his bed.  What did he carry in there that made it so heavy she wondered.  She tiptoed to the door to make sure no one was coming down the hall and then she quietly opened the backpack.

There was a bunch of crumpled papers and a couple of books she had never seen her brother reading, and a rubber snake that almost made her scream, but she recognized it as the one that he had hid under her pillow the week before, because that’s what kind of a brother Mark Snell was, always hiding rubber snakes and toy spiders under his sisters pillow.  Then she saw the candy cane at the bottom of the backpack.  She couldn’t resist taking it out and holding it in her hands, this could be pay back for all the mean jokes and other rotten big brother stuff he did to her. She put it in her pocket and quietly closed up the backpack and tiptoed back to her room.  She didn’t want to eat it at home because she didn’t want her mom or her brother to see it, so she figured she would take it to school the next day and eat it there.

The little girl was excitedly showing the candy cane to her best friend when the teacher, Mr. Hunter walked into the classroom.  Mr. Hunter was an older teacher who had a knack for stopping disturbances in his classroom before they started, and the presence of candy was definitely a disturbance waiting to happen.  Joy did not see her teacher until he was standing over her, he had his hand out and she knew he would take her candy cane.  He didn’t say a thing, he just shook his head and she sadly handed over the candy cane.  He put it in his desk drawer with all the other objects that he had confiscated, things like whoopee cushions and fake vomit and lots and lots of candy.  He kept thinking he should clean out his drawer some day but he never did.

At lunch that day the lunchroom was unusually noisy as the first snow of the year had begun to fall.  The children were talking loudly and excitedly about plans for after school snow ball fights and snow man making.  There was one table of 4 little girls who were not talking about after school activities.  They sat quietly and glumly eating their lunches, two of them had a candy cane taken away from them and the other two had been promised a piece of the candy cane.

Just then Mr. Hunter entered the lunch room, he had not packed a lunch so he figured he would see what they were serving today.  It appeared to be some sort of brown slop and some potatoes.  He decided he wasn’t really that hungry after all and he would skip lunch.  As he was walking back through the lunchroom he saw the 4 sad little girls sitting at a table all by themselves.  Mr. Hunter was not an unreasonable man, he had daughters himself and although they were now older, he had hated to see them sad.  He knelt down next to Joy and produced the candy cane from his pocket.

“If you promise not to bring candy into my classroom again, I’ll give you back this candy cane.”

The little girls eyes widened with excitement and she eagerly nodded her head, she had the candy cane again.  She would open it immediately and share a piece with her best friend.  But then she noticed the two other girls at the table.  They looked very sad, in fact Molly looked like she might start crying.  The little girl was silent for a moment as she looked at the candy cane and then at her best friend, and then at the other two little girls.

“Would you like a piece of my candy cane?” she asked the other girls.  “We could split it so we all get a piece” she added.

Molly who was on the verge of crying, suddenly was quite happy and her best friend was happy too.  In fact all 4 of the little girls were happy, because the candy cane that had been given to Molly by her mother and then taken away by Mark Snell and thrown in his backpack, and then sneaked out of his backpack by his little sister and then taken away by Mr. Hunter, the candy cane that had made 2 little girls very sad was now making 4 little girls very happy.

 

 

 

 

 

We have four drawers in our kitchen.  I don’t know if this is an average number of drawers for a kitchen as I’ve never really looked at other peoples kitchen drawers.  I suppose some kitchens would have more drawers depending on the size of the kitchen, but I really can’t imagine having less than the four we have.  Each drawer has a specific purpose and items that go in that drawer.  God forbid the person who puts something in the wrong drawer.

One of the drawers is for the kitchen towels, dishcloths and hot pads and there is definitely a specific order, hot pads in back, two rows of towels and the wash rags on the side.  Another drawer contains the silverware and small utensils, like the ice cream scoop, the lemon press, the measuring cups, some small spatulas and small tongs.  The third drawer contains the larger utensils, the soup ladle, the mash potato masher the grill tongs and also the knives which are contained in their own special holder.

The fourth drawer is known by everybody in the house as “the junk drawer.”  It seems to be the drawer that everybody throws stuff into if they don’t know where it goes in the house or if the item doesn’t already have a specific place to be put.  I once mentioned to my wife that perhaps if we cleaned out the “junk drawer” we could get rid of the “junk drawer” and then use that drawer for something else.  She responded that everybody has a “junk drawer.”  I casually pointed out that we did not have a “junk drawer” when I was growing up, that everything had a place and everybody knew where things were without having such a drawer.  My wife did not respond to that comment, instead I received a look that told me I should not bring up the idea of cleaning out the “junk drawer” again, and perhaps it would be best if I not mention what we did or did not do when I was growing up.  Since that short discussion I’ve tolerated the “junk drawer.”

The other day I was rummaging around the “junk drawer” as this is the only way to actually find something in the drawer.  For what I was looking for, now I can’t even remember, but I decided to take an inventory of the drawer, and I must say I was quite surprised how much stuff is crammed into this drawer.  So much stuff that occasionally the drawer will be difficult to close, or even worse difficult to open as something has gotten pushed up and jammed the drawer from opening.

There are two main containers that hold the majority of the items.  The first one is a small plastic container that holds tape.  We have scotch tape, masking tape, electrical tape, duct tape, double sided tape, packaging tape, packaging tape on a roll that has a perforated edge to cut the tape and black athletic tape, which I think is from when my son was playing lacrosse and he was taping his sticks.  Like a lot of items in the “junk drawer” the black athletic tape was probably purchased for a specific one-time use, but now is not really needed and was never thrown away.

The other container is a metal type tray with many small compartments holding an odd assortment of items.  There’s safety pins, staples, clothes pins, paper clips, gorilla glue, a utility knife, rubber bands, metal hooks for hanging pictures, plastic hooks for hanging I don’t know what, a bottle opener, a potato chip bag clip, krazy glue, a small candle, a small measuring tape, a bag full of washers and many, many screws and nails of various sizes.  This is not a complete listing of items in the metal tray but it is an exhausting one.

Behind the containers and crammed in between the containers are other items such as a kitchen lighter, a lint brush, a lid for the dog food once its been opened, a letter opener, 3 packs of playing cards and a plastic bag containing small birthday candles and a number 8 birthday candle.  My son is now 16 years old and I can only surmise that this number 8 candle was from his 8th birthday party and somehow this candle and the other birthday candles were saved and no realizes they’re crammed in the back of the drawer.  I didn’t realize they were back there until just now.

In the front of these containers are probably the only two items anybody really opens the “junk drawer” for, the envelope containing the coupons for grocery shopping and the batteries.  We have a half open package of 9 volt batteries, for the smoke alarms, and a half open package of triple A batteries.  Each package started off as a 12 pack, so there are about 6 batteries in each package.  We also have a sandwich bag containing some other loose batteries.  A couple of D size, one C size and 3 or 4 double A batteries.  Of course you never really need 1 or 2 of the C or D size, you always need like 4 or 5, so these have probably been in there for god knows how long.

Like I said before, the only items that are used regularly out of the “junk drawer” are the coupons and the batteries.  I’m sure most of the other items could be found a home some where else in the house, probably in the tool box or in the drawer of the work bench in the basement.

I suddenly realized that the drawer in my work bench in the basement is much larger than the kitchen drawer and would hold at least three times as much junk as what’s currently in the “junk drawer” so maybe its not a good idea to suggest a cleaning out and re-purposing of the “junk drawer.”  After all, according to my wife “everybody has a junk drawer” and sometimes its just best to leave well enough alone.

Thought for the day:

Dream as if you’ll live forever, live as if you’ll die tomorrow

It’s morning in a small, quiet Midwestern town.  In a typical middle class neighborhood a family has just returned from a week long summer vacation.  The mom heads to the basement to begin washing the vacation clothes.

She tells her 4 children to throw their dirty clothes down the chute to the basement.  The clothes begin dropping from the ceiling, soon she’s ankle deep in clothes, she sighs.  Shirts, shorts, sweatshirts, pants, bathing suits, a shoe clunks her in the head….shoe?  “NO, not your shoes” she yells to the ceiling, but the shoes keep falling and the towels, so many towels.  How could there be so many towels she wonders, we were on vacation.  The lady suddenly realizes she’s waist deep in clothes but the onslaught has stopped and she thinks that’s all of them.  But it’s not, suddenly a literal downpour of clothes of biblical proportions starts falling.  The lady is finding it hard to move her legs, she reaches for the container of soap pods, her hand rummages around and she realizes in horror that there’s only 1 soap pod left.  The clothes keep falling, there now shoulder deep and she’s struggling to move, struggling to keep her head above them.  Finally the last clothes fall and she hears small steps on the stairs, it’s her youngest child carrying an armful of towels.

“I got a couple of towels to be washed” she says in her small voice, “I gave the doggy’s a bath but I didn’t do it in the bathtub, I did it in the kitchen.”

She throws the towels on top of the pile covering the lady and goes skipping across the basement humming.  “I’m going outside, have fun momma.”  Up the stairs she goes turning off the light at the top of the stairs.

“Honey, the light, no wait, honey could ya just help me for a second…anybody, anybody, I could use a little help down here.”

The lady’s in the dark, buried by a mountain of clothes with just one soap pod and it’s Monday