X-New York Gal

Getting old’s a bitch especially when senility sets in. Recently after one of our Friday night out-to-dinners with friends Al and Dee, we stopped at Goodwill to see what kind of interesting stuff we could find. I always head straight to the books and Bill heads straight toward useless knick-knacks. Al and Dee head off in opposite directions to ‘wherever’.

I usually look for novels or cookbooks to either add to my already extensive collection or to try to (one of these days) resell on E-Bay. Mind you, I don’t cook much, if at all. My collection started when I was a little kid. My Mom, grandmother and I would go shopping at the local Bohacks in Huntington and I would ask them to buy me one of the cookbooks the store sold or I would collect the little flyers and cards with recipes on them. I loved looking at the pictures of food when I was hungry. This would really start my stomach growling.

Anyway, getting back to the subject, I bought an old book that had pictures of what meals containing various amounts of calories should look like. It was kind of picture book for dieters. I had never seen a book like this before and thought it looked interesting. I brought it home, threw it in a pile with my other recent acquisitions and figured I’d get around to looking at it one of these days.

The other day I decided to look through the book. I searched through the pile of books I hadn’t put away yet and it wasn’t there. I looked again, then again. No book. I knew I had bought the book so I began looking through all my cookbooks. Couldn’t find the damned thing. I called my Mom thinking maybe for some reason it landed over there. Why? I have no idea. Then I called Dee. Did I leave it in their car by any chance? Nope. I searched my car – several times – and had Bill dig through every compartment in his vehicle. No book.

Now finding this book was getting to be a matter of principle. I looked all over the place again for a dark gray hardcover book with black and white photos. Nothing, nada. Now I’m thinking – did I actually buy it? God, maybe I dreamt it and there really was no book. But no, I remember holding it in my hands in the store, looking at the old black and white photos. Maybe I decided not to buy it and put it back on the shelf. Nah, this was the type of book I would probably buy. But then again, maybe I didn’t.

This was now starting to drive me crazy and one day after work I drove over to the Goodwill where I thought I had bought the book. I searched the shelves but found nothing resembling this book. I finally gave up and went home. This was really starting to bother the crap out of me.

One of the projects on my to-do list was to organize my bookshelves so on my day off I began pulling books out of my book cases. I found a thin spiral bound book with a colorful cover. What was this one? I opened it to find color photos of different meals with different calorie counts. My book! It was here all the time, only it wasn’t a dark gray hard covered book with black and white photos. So much for memory. As I said, getting old’s a bitch.

One of my braver moments (or maybe stupider, however you may look at it) occurred during my working days in NYC. I was heading back to my office after lunch and stepped into an almost empty elevator. The only other passenger was a little old man.

Just as the doors were about to close, another man got in. He wasn’t the usual businessman; in fact, he looked like someone who just walked in off the street. He turned around and faced the elevator doors. I was standing in a corner in the rear of the elevator.

Then I noticed the man start taking slow backward steps. I remember thinking that if he took one more step back he would be standing on top of me. Well, he made the mistake of taking that one more step. Without even thinking, I hauled off and punched him in the back! Scared the shit out of him; he couldn’t get out of the elevator soon enough.

As soon as he was out and the doors closed again, the little old man turned to me and said, “I think you scared him more than he scared you.”

By the time I got to my office, I was shaking. I told my co-workers what happened and they told me I was lucky he didn’t hit me back. At the time, I hadn’t even thought of that.

Nowadays if you pulled something like that, the other person would probably turn around and stomp you to death.

There have been other times when I’ve reacted without thinking it through first. When I was a kid, there was this neighborhood bully named Leroy who was a few years older than I. One of his favorite means of self-entertainment was trying to run me down with his bicycle.

Now you have to understand, I was very shy and totally unable to open my mouth and stand up for myself. But one day I had had enough. Here came good ole’ Leroy on his bicycle heading straight for me. This time I stood my ground and when he got up to me, I raised my little hand and slapped him square in the face.

I’m sure this surprised him as much as it did me. But from that day forward, he never bothered me again. So the moral of this story is – stand up to bullies and don’t take any crap.

I know I haven’t written in well over a week but things have been just way too hectic. Every time I planned to do anything, something else would come along and my whole day would change course and be shot to hell. You see, I work two days a week and then plan what I’ll do with the rest of the week. But lately all sorts of wrenches have been thrown into my plans.

In addition to that, I’m also one of the laziest persons I know of. I have to be in the mood to do something. Don’t ask me to clean house or straighten after I get home from work. In fact, don’t ask me to do anything. If I’m lucky my husband won’t like what I’ve decided to make for dinner and he’ll cook (this takes well-thought-out menu planning on my part) . I don’t mind the cleanup after dinner; it’s just wipe the table and countertop, rinse the dishes and dump them in the dishwasher. Voila! Done. Crumbs on the floor? Never mind; I’ll get them the next time I vacuum – whenever that is.

So here it is Sunday and I haven’t done much of anything except go out shopping or sit in front of the computer playing games. It’s hard to concentrate when Bill’s home and the TV is on; I’m used to my quiet time during the week. I finally had to force myself to sit still and write something for my blog. So here goes:

Thursday was my birthday and I was _2 years old (no, that’s not a typo. I’m not giving out the first number!) It’s amazing how one doesn’t feel her or his age. Mentally, I feel like I’m barely out of my 20’s.

But when I think about it, when I was in my 20’s I thought people my age were really old. I guess years ago women let their hair go gray then permed and dyed it blue, plumped up and wore old lady dresses and glasses with the chains hanging down so they could wear them around their necks when not reading. They also used to wear those clunky-heeled black shoes that laced up and were worn by everyone’s grandmothers. (Sad to say, I’ve actually seen the style coming back.)

I remember back in my schooldays, all my teachers seemed really old when in reality they were probably only in their 20’s and 30’s. I’d hate to think what children would think my age is.

My Mom looks pretty damn good compared to other people her age (which I’m not giving out either). She’s slim, her face isn’t wrinkly and she doesn’t wear old lady clothes. She also reads, does puzzles, walks or rides her bike daily and doesn‘t overeat or sit munching junk food all day. Which is something I should take to heart if I want to be fit and still look good 20 years from now.

So there you have it, the basics of staying young and healthy long past your prime. Maybe I’ll make that my New Years Resolution (next year, that is).

Somewhere along the line during my New York City days, I got a job working for an insurance agent who had his office within W____& W______, the parent insurance agency. What was good about the job was that I worked on my own without a supervisor whereas all the other girls in the office were under the jurisdiction of the office manager, M., who was the typical (at that time) old maid. She had to have been in her 40’s and ruled with an iron fist. I don’t think I ever saw that woman smile.

One of the things I hated about that agency was the formality. The gals were all expected to address the men agents as Mr. So and So while we were called by our first names. This did not sit too well with me, so I was on a first name basis with most of the guys including my married male boss who was forever making passes at me. (Nowadays I could have slapped him with a sexual harassment suit.)

When I had previously worked for the GAB, a fun office, we were all on a first name basis. I was one of the few employees who called the manager Mr. H. because I used to baby sit for him and his wife and in that day and age it was customary to refer to your parents’ friends as Mr. and Mrs. So and So. (Not like today, where no respect is shown for one‘s elders.)

Anyway, my bosses’ agency floundered and he and I ended up working for W____& W______ which, much to my horror, made M. my boss. She was forever taking me aside and chastening me when I slipped up and called one of the guys by his first name. Of course I didn’t let this stop me; I’m stubborn that way and the guys certainly didn‘t mind..

One day M. called me over to her desk and informed me that I would have a supervisor. That, too, didn’t sit too well with me. My supervisor, D., was a new employee, a very attractive dark-haired woman who was probably in her early 30’s. We got along very well and I looked up to her. I must say one of the things I learned from her and remember to this day is that before you ask questions, read the information first to see if you can find the answer. If not, then ask. I guess she got tired of my asking her questions every five minutes. I admit I was too lazy to read through the insurance policies and such. But D. was right; I usually found my answers by reading.

She left the agency before I did to go into business with a friend and one day I drove to Jersey to visit her and to see her new business. We later went back to her apartment where I met her daughters and we had dinner. Afterwards she led me back to the highway and we stopped at a restaurant near there for a goodbye drink. And that was the last time I’d seen her until that day in Fort Myers more than 30 years later.

About a year and a half or two years ago I was looking for a job to supplement my two day a week job so I submitted applications all over the internet especially to the hospitals and school districts. I figured there had to be some sort of office work out there. (Turned out I was wrong.) I finally got contacted by the hospital system and was informed I had to take typing and Microsoft Excel tests.

Okay, with the typing I can more or less hold my own – about 55 to 60 wpm. But Excel is another story. I know enough to work with spread sheets and I’ve taken classes but since I hadn’t worked with it in a long time I managed to forget most of what I had learned. (Which, needless to say, came out loud and clear on my test results.)

So anyway, I showed up at the place where I had to take the test and walked over to the counter to sign in. A woman asked if she could help me and I told her I was here for the typing test. As I looked at her face I thought she looked familiar. I was trying to figure out where I had seen her before, then noticed her name tag. No way, it couldn’t be. But then again, maybe. The last name was different – not that I remembered her last name – and she could have gotten married since I had last seen her.

She took me to the computer and gave me the instructions for the test. Meanwhile I was thinking I’ve got to find out if she’s who I think she is. I mean I’m talking about someone I worked with in New York City more than 35 years ago. She would have been in her early 30’s and I in my – oh never mind how old I was at the time. She was about to leave me to my typing when I finally summoned up every last shred of courage and asked her where she was from.

“New Jersey.” She answered.

“Did you ever work in New York City?” Me.

“Yes.” She.

“Was it an insurance agency?” Me.

“Yes, W____ &W______.” She.

It was she! I then told her we used to work together and spouted out whatever I could remember about her at the time. We chatted for a while, then I had to take my test and when I left we hugged goodbye.

I got into my car with the weirdest feeling having run into someone from my NYC past. I remembered her as she looked 35+ years ago when she and I were much younger and how much the two of us had changed since then and I was overwhelmed with an indescribable nostalgia. All the way home I ached for my lost NYC days and the way things were. I missed my old friends, the commuting, the subway and, yes, even my jobs – not to mention my lost youth.

One thing I like about this time of year in Florida is the proliferation of yard sales and rummage sales. You can find quite a few around the area on a Friday and Saturday. This weekend I hit several; Friday with my Mom and Saturday with Bill. Some of these sales were held at mobile home parks, including the one Bill works at. My Mom and I also hit a church sale.

The first table I rush to at a sale is the one with the books. I love books and will knock anybody out of my way to get at them. First I search for cookbooks, not that I really cook or anything. Bill does more of the cooking than I do. (Although, I did make an attempt at a chicken pot pie recipe I found in the newspaper the other day which didn‘t turn out too badly.) I add these books to the collection of hundreds of cookbooks I’ve accumulated since I was a little girl. I started this collection because I liked looking at pictures of food when I was hungry. I guess I liked to hear my stomach growl. It’s probably time to start putting some of them on E-Bay.

After checking out the cookbooks, I look for novels – preferably paperbacks because they’re easier to read in bed. Many a time I’ve bought a novel only to realize halfway through the book that I’d already read it years ago. That’s what happens when you’re an avid reader. But I’m not going to cry over a spent quarter.

Maybe in my travels I’ll find a cute cat figure to add to my rapidly multiplying collection or some kind of kitchen doodad which will be relegated to a drawer never to be found again. I also have a thing about tote bags, so if I see a good one I’ll add that to my plastic container full of bags. Okay, okay, so maybe I’m a bit of a pack rat but I’m not the only one. Bill has such an overwhelming collection of ceramic teapots that he even brought some to Goodwill (where he probably got them from in the first place.)

It’s not like we need any more junk around the house. We just like to accumulate things, then try to figure out how to get rid of them at a later date. Don’t ask me why; it‘s a sickness.

When Bill and I lived on Long Island, we used to schedule our Saturdays around yard sales. I would circle all the sales in the newspaper and Pennysaver and plan out the route to hit each and every one within a 30 mile radius. First we’d stop at the deli and pick up breakfast sandwiches and coffee to go, then head out for our first stop. Finally by late afternoon we’d reach our last stop and head home. I couldn’t wait for the following Saturday to do it all over again.

I said to my husband this morning we ought to get that crew from the TV show “Clean House” to help us muck out some of this crap. But they’d have to remove me from the premises because I’d be fighting them tooth and nail to keep all my “stuff”, not to mention all the wailing and gnashing of teeth. This could prove to be embarrassing on national TV. (For the record, my house really isn’t that bad.)

My Mom and I are anxiously awaiting the rummage sale at the church down the road. That one’s always good for more additions to my collections. In the meantime, I’ve already signed up for an E-Bay account. Nothing like being prepared.

I just love rainy days. As I write this I’m sitting in my car eating lunch and enjoying the rain. This is the kind of day where I’d rather be home sitting in my lanai with a juicy novel, listening to the rain on the roof and the wind breezing through the pine trees. Unfortunately it’s Monday and one of the days I work.

Down here in Florida we never get enough rainy days to suit me. I guess that’s why it’s called the Sunshine State. Oh sure, we have a rainy season which lasts about six months. We get lightning so bad that I sometimes feel like joining the cat under the bed; a lot of crashing noise and torrential downpours. But 15 or 20 minutes later it’s all over and the sun is back hotter than ever.

(My husband took the above photo at Vero Beach.)

And don’t even ask me about the mosquitoes that suddenly appear in whiny clouds. I don’t know what’s so special about my blood but they seem to target only me. I mean they home right in on me. My Mom claims she never gets bitten, my husband thinks I’m crazy. He’s convinced that there are no mosquitoes out there. But I know better and have the welts and scabs to prove it. So that’s one of the downsides of rain.

Otherwise, I miss the days up North when it would actually rain an entire day or even several days in a row. It was such a cozy feeling sitting inside watching the raining pelt the windows. I remember one summer where the week days were sunny and gorgeous and it rained every weekend. Okay, so that did get tired after awhile.

But now we’re in fire season. (Yes, Florida is a state of seasons – fire season, rainy season, hurricane season.) So a little rain always helps. There’s nothing more frightening than seeing the smoke of a nearby fire and hoping it doesn’t head your way. This happened a few years ago when we were managers of a manufactured home community down the road from where we live now. The fire started from a lightning strike way back in the woods on the other side of Tamiami Trail and eventually worked its way right across the road from our park. Things really got exciting when it jumped the highway and started working its way into our park. Bill was out there with the firemen while I, brave soul that I am, grabbed the cat and my mother and drove around the park ready to take flight. Thanks to the fire department the fire was contained and we all still had our homes.

So where am I going with all of this? Nowhere really. It’s just that I love rainy days.

What I can’t understand is why there has to be so much blood, guts and gore on TV, in the movies and on video games these days. Do people actually find this entertaining? I can’t even watch a commercial for any of this stuff without covering my eyes.

Is this the kind of crap people want their children to watch? No wonder kids these days are becoming so desensitized to this junk that murdering one’s parents is just another video game to them. Listen up! You kill ‘em, they ain’t coming back and jail isn‘t a happy place.

Where are the cries of outraged parents? Oh, sorry. I forgot. Most parents either don’t care what their kids do or they’re deathly afraid of them. A child brings home a bad report card and right away it’s the teacher’s fault. Neither parent nor child will accept responsibility for their own actions. Hell, let’s blame it on someone else!

Discipline and good values have become a thing of the past. God forbid you smack your child for misbehaving. Why, your ass could end up in jail. Yell at them? Nah, that’s mental abuse. I mean, really, kids actually learn this stuff in schools. Luckily, I never had children. They probably would have been taken away from me and placed in foster care.

Teen pregnancies? Okay, there were some when I was in high school back in the dark ages. But nowadays movies, TV and pop tartlets make teen pregnancy and motherhood something glamorous to aspire to. No more playing dolls. Let’s have real babies instead. And many of those real babies end up having their own real babies before they’re out of their teens. More business for the Welfare Department.

So come on Moms and Dads. Pay some attention to the crap your kids are being exposed to and the messages being sent. Is this really what you want for your children?

It’s been kind of chilly here in Southwest Florida and that got me to thinking of soup. Just recently I had made a pea soup from scratch which turned out really delicious, if I must say so myself. You can basically use the recipe on an 8 ounce bag of dried peas and then add your own touches.

I cooked mine in the crock pot and added a ham bone and small pieces of cut up ham, a parsnip (which gives it a real nice flavor), carrots, an onion, some leftover cooked potatoes, one and a half Knorr’s vegetable broth cubes, parsley, and some black pepper. Be sure to cut up everything into really small pieces. Then you let it sit in the crock pot for the next 7 – 9 hours. (For the first hour I put it on high, then turned it down to low.) About a half hour or so before serving, I removed the hambone and cut off any remaining meat. This soup, along with a buttered dinner roll, is a complete comfort meal.

I used to love making soups from scratch, even though I’m not much of a cook. Unfortunately Bill, my husband, is not a soup eater so I ended up giving some to my Mom.

I remember back to when I worked in New York City for a life insurance agency on Madison Avenue. One of my favorite ways to spend lunch time on a dreary, rainy day was to run a few blocks over to the Chock Full ‘O’ Nuts coffee shop on Fifth Avenue between 35^th and 36^th Streets and grab a hamburger and Manhattan clam chowder to go. I would then find an empty office in which to savor my greasy hamburger and delicious clam chowder in peace. The most comfortable office was the vice president’s office, so when he was out I would curl up in one of the comfortable old leather chairs along with the New York Daily News, sip at my soup and watch the rain drops streaking down the windows. (In those days I got an hour for lunch even though I only worked from 8:30 to 4:30. This constituted and 8 hour work day unlike those of today.)

I decided to Google Chock Full ‘O’ Nuts before writing about it. I figured they were all gone by now. Boy was I wrong! Apparently there are about 16 shops located in the New York area and one in Jersey. But it seems they went the way of Starbucks and coffee shops of that type with their lattes and other specialty drinks. I’m sorry to say I couldn’t find any mention of their Manhattan clam chowder and hamburgers, my favorite comfort lunches of days past.

Last year my sister-in-law was down from New York. She was staying with her mother up in Zephyrhills, Florida. So during her stay she and her mother came down to visit my Mom and me and we ended up spending the day in Sanibel. Yes Sanibel, again. It seems every time we have visitors we take them to Sanibel. But it’s a nice drive and the beaches are beautiful and there are all sorts of little gift shops around.

Anyway, the four of us decided to check out some of these little shops and suddenly my sis-in-law’s mom calls out to me to check out this tee shirt that seemed made especially for my husband. It was a bright blue shirt with white lettering that spelled out “Tested Positive For Grumpiness”. That was a real winner so needless to say, I bought it. My husband claims he’s grumpy and proud of it. And believe me, truer words have never been spoken.

I happily brought the shirt home and presented it to him, getting a sarcastic “Oh, thanks a lot”. I figured the shirt would end crumpled up someplace in the back of his armoire.

HA! He wears that damn shirt wherever he goes. He has gotten more comments from women wanting to know where they can get a shirt like that for their husbands. Hell, somebody offered him $25 for it.  He loves the attention and always tells them just how grumpy he really is. If I’m around I, of course, agree. Women have even come up to me asking where they can get a shirt like that.

Which kind of brings me to one conclusion. Most men are grumpy and proud of it.