Our house, while crumbling around the edges, is very comfortable. Years ago, we gave up fashion and went for soft furniture on which we can keep our (swelling) ankles up. The dogs like it too.
It is not fashionable. It wasn’t fashionable 20 years ago and we are not fashionable either, so it works. The dogs don’t know about fashion. As long as they can find a soft spot on which to sleep, life is good.
What social stigma does society need to get over already?
The list is too long. It’s sad, too. Because I thought, way back when, that we had actually gotten over some of it. I thought that if we hadn’t lost our racism, we had at least gotten past calling each other names. I thought we’d finally learned after Mussolini and Hitler and all the others throughout history, that we knew dictators are a bad deal. That all the organization they bring to the world, they are cruel, evil, and no good ever comes from them.
But somehow, between the episodes of horror, we forget. We lose our memories of evil. We idolize the power and forget the monstrous nature of the beast.
What was the last photo you took?
Yesterday, I took some pictures of a bunch of Brown-headed Cowbirds sitting on the railing of my deck.
These ARE blackbirds!
Otherwise, I’m trying to figure out how the last squirrel managed to unhook the entire feeder and drop it to the ground below. I have to hand it to the maker of this feeder that it survived as if nothing happened, even though it fell two stories.
When was the last time you snooped and found something or found out something you wish you hadn’t?
The last time I read Tarot cards. I saw that the man I was reading for was going to die. And he did.
What’s the most comfortable bed or chair you’ve ever slept in?
The bed we own with its original mattress was the world’s MOST comfortable bed. Now, with a new, not as expensive mattress it’s very comfortable, but not like it was with its original mattress.
But that mattress lasted 15 years, so it didn’t owe me anything. I only wish I could have afforded another real natural latex mattress. Sadly, it was out of our price range.
I use all kinds of plates and dishware as decorative elements all over my house. It makes sense in the kitchen and dining areas, but I also use them in my bedroom and bathroom and in my bookcases.
On the large wall of my bedroom, I used a mid-century mirror from the Algonquin Hotel in NYC as the centerpiece. I surrounded the mirror with prints and plates to create a large vignette across the entire wall.
Detail of wall vignette
Plate with print
Another detail of plates mixed with prints
Plate and small pitcher next to the Jacuzzi in the bathroom
I love to use all kinds of dishes and serving pieces as part of the decor in my home. I find it’s an inexpensive way to fill the walls and the shelves all over the house.
In Part 1, I showed you the kitchen area, where you would be most likely to find dishes as part of the decor. Now we’re moving into my family room, my dining room, and my foyer, where I also use decorative plates and other dishes, such as candy dishes.
I fell in love with this plate set and found the perfect place to use it on my dining room wall
This is the full vignette mixing artwork and plates on my dining room wall
The dessert size plates from this artistic set set
Two beautiful mid-century modern candy dishes
Two more mid-century modern candy dishes in my dining room
When I was a lot younger — in my teens — America didn’t look all that wonderful to me. It was before abortion became legal. Vietnam was in high gear and my first husband and I were close to bankrupt from having my spine repaired.
When I went into the hospital, we had $20,000 in the bank which in the U.S. in 1965, was enough to buy a house and maybe a car, too. In fact, our first house cost $19,200 and our car cost under $1000.
When I staggered out of the hospital (I was there for five months), we had $10 in the bank and owed the hospital a couple of thousand dollars more. I asked my husband if we didn’t pay them back, would they find me and break my back again?
We cashed in everything we had, sold anything that had any value. Mind you, we had insurance. Just not enough insurance. Two years later, Owen was born with two club feet. It cost us about $500 every week to treat his feet. By the time he was walking almost normally, we were thousands of dollars in debt and never recovered.
There we were, deep in the Vietnam war. We had a lot of friends over there, too. We were lucky. Most of our friends came home.
We were young. Passionate. Sure we could fix it, whatever “it” was. We also wondered if we could move to Australia, Canada or somewhere we could earn a living, but in the end, we stayed in the U.S. It was home. We never imagined it would be as bad as it is now, but it wasn’t all that great back then, either.
When Jeff and I split up late in 1979, I moved to Israel with Owen and it became my “other: home. I became a citizen but in the end, I came back to the U.S. Because I knew where “home” was and it wasn’t there.
I have been back since the end of the 1980s. Things got better, worse, then better, worse, better — and now, simply awful. Until Netanyahu was re-elected in Israel yesterday, I had this underlying belief that at least I had another home to which I could flee — if fleeing was what we had to do.
It turns out that any place we might go to has its own issues, most of which are as bad (and surprisingly similar) as ours. They may lack our disgusting, lying president, but they are battling over immigration, health care, taxes, the climate. Their politicians are also liars. More polite than ours. Not less sleazy but they have better manners.
Meanwhile, climate change will affect the entire world. All the pointless arguments in the world are not going to change that reality.
Is there anywhere for us to go? Is there a safe place with sane leaders who would want us? I think not.
First of all, we are old and not rich. Most countries, if they are looking for immigrants, are looking for young, well-educated people who will contribute to their economy or older people who have money. Israel would take us because I’m a citizen, but their problems are serious; I don’t see them improving soon.
Effectively, there is nowhere for us to go.
I think in years to come there will be only two kinds of people in this world: those who hate immigrants and immigrants.
Last night, dinner was perfect. I cook dinner every night except for the few when we are away from home, order in, or actually go out to dinner. Not surprisingly, I spend a lot of time pondering what to cook.
When we lived in Boston, we ate out. A lot. There were so many good places to eat, too. A lot of our choices took us down to the wharf where they had some great places for fish and lobster and clams. A lot of them were shorts and sandals kinds of places and some of these rather rough little restaurants had the best seafood you could imagine.
Then came The Big Dig. Between the construction which seemed to have closed every street in Boston and turned the usually difficult traffic into a calamity, those restaurants disappeared. Some of them reopened in other places in the city. They kept the same name, but they weren’t the same restaurants. They got fancy. All the effort that had previously gone into creating great food now went into dining room decor.
We left Boston. Of the many things we never imagined we’d miss was food.
The Blackstone Valley has its wonders. A beautiful place … with such pathetic restaurants. It must be something about we the people. Food is drab. No spices. Anything stronger than salt is regarded with deep suspicion, so bland is the name of the game. When anyone asks what we’ve got in the way of dining, I say “white bread and brown gravy.” But that’s not fair. A few places also make really good hamburgers.
We stopped going out to dinner except for very special occasions. I’m pretty sure there were better restaurants some years back, but they closed down. So we eat at home and periodically, we develop an intense boredom with food. It isn’t lack of appetite, though we don’t eat as much as we used to. It’s more that I can’t think of one more way to make chicken that doesn’t seem drab.
My goal in home food preparation is to keep feeding us without boring us into starvation.
Last night, I made “breakfast for dinner.” We don’t eat breakfast. We have coffee. I have an English muffin too. Garry just drinks a lot of coffee. Sandwiches suffice for lunch. This week, we’ve had chili, one of my standards. Sweet-and-sour chicken. Baked salmon. Shrimp with onions and peppers over rice. And frozen pizza.
I had cheese, bacon, and eggs in the fridge. Time to do something with them.
I make bacon in the microwave. Do not judge me. I do not like cleaning grease off half the kitchen after frying bacon, so I have developed a way of cooking it in the microwave that skips most of the grease and still turns out a pretty good platter. Timing has been the major issue, but last night I got it perfect. For 8 slices of bacon, two layers of paper towels on a platter (make sure it is small enough to rotate). Another double layer of towels on top of the raw bacon. Cook at full power for five minutes. Let it sit for a minute or two. Turn it back on for another 2-1/2 minutes at full power. Perfect and not all wrinkly. Chewy, but not raw. Everything was still hot when it got to the plate — a small miracle in its own right.
Even the cheese omelets were perfect. I was still congratulating myself on dinner as we were going to bed.
This was a little victory, but still, a victory and all mine. A simple dinner in which each piece was as close to perfect as it could make it. Easy to clean up after, too. If I have to spend an hour cleaning up the mess, I feel a lot less victorious.
It’s the small things, you know? Big things can be overwhelming. These days, in a time when there is far too much “big stuff” blowing in the wind, my world is complete if dinner is perfect. Small victories help keep the wheels of life rolling smoothly.
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