Pea Picking Moments

I was making vegetable soup the other night. I've come up with a very simple recipe. The base is V-8, I throw in some beef bullion and cabbage. And a 12 ounce bag of frozen vegetables.

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But here's the rub: Mr. Ginley won't eat peas.

So there I was, trolling through a bag of frozen veggies, removing all the peas. As I was doing so, it occurred to me that this activity was much like sorting puzzle pieces. It's a bit tedious overall, but also possibly therapeutic. Or, at least it would be if I weren't in a bit of hurry to get dinner going. Fortunately, I enjoy peas, so the little greenies won't go to waste or anything. No harm done. 

As I pea-picked, I ruminated. I've noticed that some brands of frozen vegetables have more peas than others. For example, the last bag I excavated was Green Giant (or maybe Birds Eye?). There were far fewer peas than in my Giant Eagle bag. I began to wonder if maybe peas were more (or less?) costly than other vegetables.

I decided to go on the internet and check it out. But alas, the Google failed me. You may find this difficult to believe, but no one (that came up in the first few Google SERPs) mentioned anything about the combination of vegetables in national brands vs. local brands. Hard to believe, right?

In the meantime, I did learn that private label frozen veggies account for the largest share of the market, followed not-so-closely by Birds Eye. Coming in much further down was Pictsweet Farms, then Green Giant, then everyone else.

I know what you're thinking...absolutely fascinating, right?

Still, there was no answer as to which brand had the fewest peas, so I was right back where I started. 

Mulling it over later, the obvious solution presented itself. If I purchased one bag of green beans, one bag of corn and one bag of carrots, I could assemble my own mixed vegetables and save myself the pea picking. 

Well, as my old buddy Homer would say, DOH!

All that was left was to figure out how much of each vegetable would comprise 12 ounces. Here, the Google was actually helpful. There are 1 1/2 cups of veggies in a 12 ounce bag. Therefore, I would need 1/2 cup each of the carrots, beans and corn. 

And y'all thought taking maths in school was a waste of time. All those stinkin' word problems I hated in fifth grade finally came in handy.

Here's one for you to try. If Mrs. Ginley buys two Mounds chocolate bars and gives one to Mr. Ginley, how many does Mrs. Ginley have left? 

The answer? Two...Mr. Ginley hates coconut, so he gave his back. 

And that wily Mrs. Ginley didn't have to share.

Photo attribution: David Adam Kess, CC BY-SA 4.0 via Wikimedia Commons

Greeting-Less Seasons

I suppose it's inevitable that in our zoom-zoom society, holiday cards would go the way of the Dodo bird.

Lavishly-designed cards sprinkled with glitter used to be an integral part of the holiday season. My Mom had a crafty card holder for awhile. It was made from a Pringles potato chip can with strands of yarn strung from top to bottom. We'd sit and flip through the cards to discover greetings from relatives and friends near and far. Some included letters summarizing their year. Most were simply signed. 

I imagine these days it's just ONE MORE THING that folks just can't cope with. I get that. For several years, Mr. Ginley sent out the cards because I just couldn't manage it. But this year, I took on the task. 

The danger in sending out cards, of course, is that you risk irritating people who feel compelled to send you a card simply because you sent them one. Just to be clear, I don't mail my greetings in a pathetic attempt to guilt people into returning the favor. Although I do enjoy getting them.

Somewhere in my pile of stuff I have stacks of old greeting cards of yesteryear. I'm thinking of pulling them out and looking at them again. It'd be nice to see our folks' signatures and imagine them being with us in spirit this holiday. The world is just such a frightful place these days, I could use a little comfort, even if it comes from a distant past.

The holiday season really is a mixed bag, eh? So much merry and melancholy in one messy bundle. Oh well. 

Whatever holidays you may be celebrating (Christmas? Hanukkah? Festivus?) I hope you find some peace and joy in the season.

And if I haven't sent you a holiday card and you'd like one, let me know. 

I still have a bunch left.

And All That Jazz

Many people float in and out of our lives. Some are there for life, others barely make a ripple in our existence.

Then there are the ones who come into your life when you need them most, save you, and disappear. One such person in my life was Jan.

I have no idea why she's been on my mind so much lately, let alone why I feel so compelled to write about her. But I've learned to follow my instincts, so here we are. 

Jan and I met when we worked in the accounting department at J.B. Robinson Jewelers. I was nearing the end of my first marriage. Aside from work, Jan and I found common ground in books, the Beatles and a love of England. 

At some point that I can't exactly recall, the dream of traveling abroad was bandied about, and the two of us began to make plans. Jan took care of the travel arrangements, I convinced my husband I needed the time away to think and put up my share of the cost. This was happening!

We joked about being so excited about beginning our adventure that surely our side of the plane was bobbing about with us jumping up and down on our seats. (It was figurative, of course, neither of us being outwardly demonstrative.)

There were many adventures to be had, and we had as many as we could in that delightful week. We spend most of the time in London, but also took a day trip to Dover and Canterbury. It's the one of the few times in my life that I was a full-fledged tourist, taking in as much as I could stand. I declared my favorite place to be Westminster Abbey. Jan was partial to St. Paul. The trip turned out to be a once-in-a-lifetime extravaganza, and I am still awed that we did it together. 

After our return, life went back to normal for a very short while, before it became apparent that my marriage was not mendable. But what was I to do? Jan floated the idea of moving in with her. It was eventually arranged, and we moved in together. I could never have moved out on my own – my finances at that point were in sorry shape. Jan was my lifeline at a time when I needed one most. I've never forgotten that. 

Over the years, we lost touch. She switched jobs and moved in with another friend. I moved to Virginia, got married, moved back and had a kid. I didn't see her much, and then not at all. At one point, I sent her a picture of my son and I think I told her about my blog. But I never heard back. 

I don't know why she's been so much on my mind lately, but I hope somehow she sees this and knows how thankful I am to have had her in my life. And how much she's meant to me.

Love you, Jazz!

P.S. I have a wonderful photo of the two of us in London that sits on my dresser, but I decided not to show it here, in the interest of preserving her privacy.

Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da

Working from home means I spend every day with Mr. Ginley. While this is mostly a good thing, it is nice to have "me" time. 

So when our son whisked Mr. off to help work a sporting event, I was tickled. A day to myself. Whatever would I do?

As it turned out, work, mostly. I took on all the tasks that I'd been putting off because I was persuaded they could wait.

First off, I put the storm window in the basement. Next, I tackled yard work. Three bags of yard waste and a sore back later, I called it a day. (After I put the grill in the basement. No more cookouts this year, alas.)

To reward myself for my labors, I watched a Hallmark holiday movie. My sister, Diane, observed there are a few different types. One is the travelogue, as we experienced last week, watching A Heidelberg Holiday. The title character was Heidi Heidelberg. (I shit you not.) The scenery was breathtaking, and it was surprisingly well done. The one I watched yesterday was based in Colorado, called, appropriately enough, Christmas in Colorado. The acting was pretty bad, but I like horses, so there was that. 

Moving along...the next thing to tackle was the budget. I balanced the checkbook (yes, I still do that religiously) and paid some bills. That's when I remembered I was supposed to bake a pumpkin pie. The one I failed to make on Thanksgiving because, honestly, it was a bridge too far that day. I started with a frozen crust (my sister, Denise, is the crustmaster in our family), so it was in the oven pretty quickly. 

Then I took on the dishes. Thanksgiving dishes. To make the task palatable, I pulled out some vinyl – specifically, the Beatles' White Album – and listened to it from start to finish. (Skipping over Revolution No. 9, which I will never listen to when home alone because it just creeps me out.) The double album serenaded me through Christmas tree decorating. I cranked up the volume and sang right along, thankful no one had to suffer through my caterwauling. (I mean, it doesn't bother me, I'm used to it.) I figure I'll know when I'm losing it when I forget Beatles' lyrics – and we're talking about ALL the lyrics, not just those to Wild Honey Pie and Why Don't We Do it in the Road. 

It all worked out quiet nicely, as the boys pulled up in the driveway just as the strains of 
Good Night were weaving their way through the airwaves. (It's the last song on the White Album.)

Sure, and you're probably thinking it doesn't sound like a great day spent alone, but I was content. I got a lot accomplished and fed my spirit to boot.

Special thanks to John, Paul, George & Ringo.  I hope we passed the audition.

Photo attribution: Marjory Collins, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

Tiring Solutions

At some point before I began dating Mr. Ginley, he faced an odd conundrum. It seems every time he took his car to the local Burger King drive-thru, it would stall out, and he'd have trouble starting it again.

He put the problem to his Dad to see what his take on the situation was. Perhaps his father would attribute it to the fates, to an evil spirit inhabiting his car or a sinister Russian plot.

After considering the problem, my future father-in-law gave his verdict.

"Don't go to Burger King."

I was reminded of this a few Sundays ago when I was heading across town to meet our son for breakfast. About halfway there, my tire malfunction light came on. This has happened in the past when the weather changes, but it still kind of freaks me out. When I arrived at First Watch for our breakfast rendezvous, Joe assured me everything was fine, reminding me that I was the one who told him about this snafu with the tire light. Nevertheless, he checked all four tires to ensure they were inflated properly. They were.

Fast forward three weeks, and once again I'm making the trek across town to the east side. Once again, the light comes on. This time, it remains on until I'm heading home, just about the point in time when I cross the border from the east to the west side.

When I arrived home, I shared the phenomenon with Mr. Ginley. 

He pondered my situation carefully and made his determination.

"From now on, have Joe come to the west side to have breakfast," he declared.

In the immortal words of Elvis (along with a hefty helping of sarcasm), "Thank you. Thank you very much."

Everybody Wang Chung Tonight

For someone who soaks up emotions like a giant sponge, recent events have been a bit much.

Photo attribution below.

I won't go into the laundry list of awfuls – suffice to say, it's things like people blowing each other up in foreign lands, the climate going cattywampus and state leaders who won't stop trying to subvert the will of the people, even when it's clear what that will is.

It all makes me realize why it took me over 100 years to reincarnate. 

Now I know most of you don't believe in reincarnation, but I've gotta say, when I went to a psychic many years ago and she told me I was disillusioned in a prior life and that's why I was so reluctant to return, it made perfect sense to me.

But I digress.

My point is, when one feels like life has become a huge band-aid being ripped off again and again, how does one cope? 

I've done the following:

• Spent time in the park with Mr. Ginley, walking, talking and driving.
• Reduced my time on FB, except for keeping up with friends' personal posts, my "I Love Puffins" group, my puzzle group and several nature photography groups I follow.
• Worked jigsaw puzzles.
• Watched Hallmark movies and British mystery series.
• Read novels.
• Listened to musical favorites, old and new.

As to the last item on my list, it's been my mission to scour the libraries in search of new things to listen to. My success rate is meh, but I'd say overall, it's been worthwhile. I discovered a Mark Knopfler CD that I've listened to a bazillion times and am putting on my Christmas list. Also, I stumbled on Cat Stevens' remake of Tea for the Tillerman, which is also going on my list.

And sometimes it's about rediscovering a lost gem. Mr. Ginley watches a lot of YouTube, and one night a couple of weeks ago, he stumbled on the video for Everybody Wang Chung Tonight. The video was made at the height of MTVs innovative era and features funky stop-action techniques that could no doubt be accomplished by AI in a fraction of the time. But back in the day, it was state-of-the-art.

Anyhow, we both toe-tapped our way through the Wang Chung extravaganza and agreed it was a mood-lifter. A few nights later, I was working on a puzzle and Mr. was watching YouTube when he said, "Hey, we haven't heard this tune in awhile." And yes, you guessed it, we started to hum along once again to Jack Hues, Nick Feldman and their merry band of musicians. It's become a nightly ritual that hasn't gotten old just yet.

We all need coping mechanisms, and I figure Wang Chung is pretty harmless. Better than eating a pint of ice cream or getting lost in a bottle of schnaps. I suppose there are music critics would disagree, but then, they can be pretty disagreeable people, so there you go.

I hope y'all have equally effective (and tame) coping devices. Feel free to share.

In the meantime, let's all Wang Chung Tonight. 

Photo attribution: Bartolomeo Pinelli, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

So Long, Shirley

People tumble in and out of your life. Some are front and center for awhile, then suddenly disappear. Others hang around in the background, like the scent of lavender – there, but not always top of mind. Shirley Edmiston fell into this second category. 

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I found out this week from a mutual friend that Shirley passed away. True to form, she didn't want a fuss made over her passing. No funeral, no hullabaloo, just a quick cremation. Shirley didn't have children, and her two brothers predeceased her – although there are in-laws and nephews and nieces to mourn her loss. But I couldn't let her final departure go by without saying farewell.

I met Shirley when I started working at Sterling (could it possibly be?) over 40 years ago. By that time, she was firmly established as part of the old guard. It took me awhile to get to the real Shirley. She pretty much said exactly what she thought, which was both refreshing and a little intimidating. Over time, I realized she had a heart as big as the state of Texas – but you messed with Shirley at your own peril. If you broke her trust, you were toast.

Thanks to Facebook, I was able to keep up – albeit from a distance – with Shirley's goings-on after she left Sterling in 2016. That's how I knew about the dozens of art classes she took. She posted her work, and it was really good. She did pieces for friends, too. A drawing of Harry and Ilene's beloved dog, Daphne. A painting of a picnic basket for Anne. And she shared several of her tole paintings with Julie (whose husband lived next door to Shirley growing up. Shirley shared a picture of Julie's hubby in a diaper. Cue "It's a Small World.")

I asked a few folks for their favorite memories. Shirley spent a lot of years at Sterling, but what I found really cool was that no one mentioned work stuff. All the memories were of her artwork and the things she did outside of – and after – Sterling.

So, what is my favorite Shirley-girl memory? On the day I gave birth to Joe, Shirley and Terrie came to see us in the hospital. They brought me cake, and Shirley said, "You missed your baby shower." I was so touched that they came all that way. And brought cake. Ever after, Shirley asked how Joe was doing and fussed over him when he came to the office. 

One thing we all agreed on was that Shirley's beloved Butch was there at the Pearly Gates to greet her. She outlived him by 20 years, and she missed him like crazy. Her Facebook page has a lot of old pictures, and her favorite photo of him became her profile picture.

Shirley was one of my most faithful blog followers. If she's reading this now, I hope she approves. 

Rest well, Shirl.

Photo attribution: Mogens Engelund, CC BY-SA 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons