So! Big display as you turn the corner with your cart after entering the Walpole Walmart today. Dan Brown's book for $16.88! Such a deal. Looked like some of the copies had already been plucked off the display.
Be glad that at least one book is selling like hotcakes. It's good for the book store owners and they have been dropping like flies. Let's see if I can round up a few more cliches. Speaking of hotcakes, what are they and where are they sold? Is it a pancake? Swear I don't know, but the phrase is persistent.
We never shopped at Walmart until we retired, but of course there aren't any Walmarts in the vicinity of Wellesley or Swellesley as it is sometimes known locally.
Walmart isn't bad. They have great cat litter, and there is none cheaper. We buy Fancy Feast there, too, and it's like getting the sale price every week. Familiary has led to buying vitamins, cleaning supplies, charcoal and we are branching into groceries, too.
Once I bought a Walmart brand "Faded Glory" tee shirt to wear as pajama tops. $5.00, what a buy! Guess what? I liked it so much I took it out of the PJ drawer and put it into the tee shirt drawer.
When the recession is over, I'll probably hang onto some of my newly frugal spending habits. I've found a shampoo I really like, not the $ 12.00 bottle from the hairdresser. I've let my hair grow to eliminate so many hair cuts. We ate our own vegetables this summer. Tomatoes are still ripening. Yum! Picked a few more green beans today.
The bag 'o impatiens is still blooming mightily. Hummingbirds headed south. I worry about my sweet birds having to fly so far. It's always such a relief to see them again in the spring.
The slough turns fall colors and the temperature in the house was 66 degrees this morning. Fall is here and winter is coming.
We have a cord of firewood, so bring it on!
Showing posts with label Wellesley. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Wellesley. Show all posts
Friday, September 18, 2009
Friday, April 24, 2009
Why Is Everything Such A Hassle?
Yesterday I had my hair cut and colored for the first time since early November. I was the two-toned kid, with 4 inches of brown and 5 inches of streaked blond brown with ends that had seen better days. Looking good, now. I did this in prep for Edgar's week in NY. It is bad enough to be the unstylish country cousin, even the pudgy unstylish country cousin without being the bad hair etc. country cousin, and might I add the cousin who hasn't published a book since 2003, etc. etc.?
But my hairdresser is great and he is even reading my book as is one of the other stylists. He liked the "descriptive" passages, which I suspect is damning with faint praise, but anyway. . .
I go back to Wellesley for my hair, and bopped into E.A. Davis to ogle the Lily Pulitzer clothes. So cool. So summery. So very Nantucket. Drool. Prices too high. I debated, and decided not to try anything on in the unlikely event that it fit. E.A. Davis is never a hassle.
We were having lasagne for dinner and I needed parmesan cheese and lettuce, so I stopped at Shaw's. Bought a wee box of black raspberries, so I had three (count 'em) 3 items. Took my understuffed basket into the 10 items or less check-out line. The clerk had already scanned the stuff the woman in front of me purchased, and then she began to pack it up, and I realized about the 3rd grocery bag that this woman must have had AT LEAST 20 items. That Shaws is always a train wreck. So, one might expect that the woman would turn and apologize. Maybe no one was behind her when she unloaded her week's groceries. Nope.
Maybe I had a right to expect that the check-out clerk would apologize for holding up the line endlessly. Paper and plastic and the woman's own bag (just one!) and was that a debit or a credit card yada yada.
Nope. Instead, a cheery, "how are you, today?" Now, how is anyone, especially us type A's who must wait and wait in the quick ten-items-or-less (not fewer) line for endless minutes for the rude feeling-so-priveleged shopper? I said "fine," with a chiliness that must have given her a clue. Still no apology. Not even a breezy apology.
Certainly no abject apology. That would come later.
On to the dry cleaners. Opened the door, and the woman who works there was sitting at her desk. She didn't look up. I did a double take. Hmmm. Her eyes are closed. She is erect, and therefore not dead. This woman never looks exactly healthy, so this was a legitimate consideration. I said, "excuse me."
She woke up with a start and starred at me. Abject apologies. My god, you would think they had lost the cleaning, which has actually happened, but not there. I had two "groups" of cleaning and no cash, so I whipped out ye old charge card, and for some reason she rang the cleaning up in three groups, but she had to key in a lot of numbers and the charge machine was SLOOOOOW, just like the Shaw's checkout line. I didn't understand why she couldn't add 10.00 and 19.65, after all it wasn't a quadratic equation, but this math seemed to be beyond her ken.
In the meantime another customer came in and waited and waited and waited, just like I had at Shaw's, and I was tempted to apologize, but hey, I wasn't the sleepy, slow, abject one.
Finally, with three charge receipts for $29.65, I was out of there. No other hassles. It's a wonder I didn't get rear-ended driving out of the parking lot. This is the center where all the truckers stop at the Dunkin' Donuts because there's a big parking lot. Sometimes you have to wait there indefinitely, but when the wait is long, we will feel virtuous and skip the donut. Never a bad idea, skipping the donut, especially is you are the not-very-stylish country cousin a little pudgy and not recently published.
Alas,
Grapeshot
But my hairdresser is great and he is even reading my book as is one of the other stylists. He liked the "descriptive" passages, which I suspect is damning with faint praise, but anyway. . .
I go back to Wellesley for my hair, and bopped into E.A. Davis to ogle the Lily Pulitzer clothes. So cool. So summery. So very Nantucket. Drool. Prices too high. I debated, and decided not to try anything on in the unlikely event that it fit. E.A. Davis is never a hassle.
We were having lasagne for dinner and I needed parmesan cheese and lettuce, so I stopped at Shaw's. Bought a wee box of black raspberries, so I had three (count 'em) 3 items. Took my understuffed basket into the 10 items or less check-out line. The clerk had already scanned the stuff the woman in front of me purchased, and then she began to pack it up, and I realized about the 3rd grocery bag that this woman must have had AT LEAST 20 items. That Shaws is always a train wreck. So, one might expect that the woman would turn and apologize. Maybe no one was behind her when she unloaded her week's groceries. Nope.
Maybe I had a right to expect that the check-out clerk would apologize for holding up the line endlessly. Paper and plastic and the woman's own bag (just one!) and was that a debit or a credit card yada yada.
Nope. Instead, a cheery, "how are you, today?" Now, how is anyone, especially us type A's who must wait and wait in the quick ten-items-or-less (not fewer) line for endless minutes for the rude feeling-so-priveleged shopper? I said "fine," with a chiliness that must have given her a clue. Still no apology. Not even a breezy apology.
Certainly no abject apology. That would come later.
On to the dry cleaners. Opened the door, and the woman who works there was sitting at her desk. She didn't look up. I did a double take. Hmmm. Her eyes are closed. She is erect, and therefore not dead. This woman never looks exactly healthy, so this was a legitimate consideration. I said, "excuse me."
She woke up with a start and starred at me. Abject apologies. My god, you would think they had lost the cleaning, which has actually happened, but not there. I had two "groups" of cleaning and no cash, so I whipped out ye old charge card, and for some reason she rang the cleaning up in three groups, but she had to key in a lot of numbers and the charge machine was SLOOOOOW, just like the Shaw's checkout line. I didn't understand why she couldn't add 10.00 and 19.65, after all it wasn't a quadratic equation, but this math seemed to be beyond her ken.
In the meantime another customer came in and waited and waited and waited, just like I had at Shaw's, and I was tempted to apologize, but hey, I wasn't the sleepy, slow, abject one.
Finally, with three charge receipts for $29.65, I was out of there. No other hassles. It's a wonder I didn't get rear-ended driving out of the parking lot. This is the center where all the truckers stop at the Dunkin' Donuts because there's a big parking lot. Sometimes you have to wait there indefinitely, but when the wait is long, we will feel virtuous and skip the donut. Never a bad idea, skipping the donut, especially is you are the not-very-stylish country cousin a little pudgy and not recently published.
Alas,
Grapeshot
Saturday, September 22, 2007
Food, Food and More Food, Even Cow Food
We love the food network, the cleavage barers, the plump ones, the southerners, the northerners. Even Significant Other will sit and watch. Maybe even learn something.
We had a dinner party last night for some of my old colleagues from IT days, and spouses. We began with an antipasto to die for.I pulled out all the stops, with a trip to the Wasik's cheese shop in Wellesley, for Swiss Emmental, Parmigiano from Parma, grated to powder, Insalata Ricotta, and a couple of Italian cheese I substitued for Provlone and Fontina. Soft cheeses, with lots of flavor.The parmesan and the emmental were for the main course, more of that later.
Then I hurried to Roche brothers for fresh mozzarella, the little balls, not the big ones. Bought kalamata olives, and some mushrooms in a vinaigrette, canned artichoke hearts, a big eggplant, fresh broccoli and a red pepper. Salami, Sopressata, Mortadella, proscuitto and fresh chicken breast.Grilled the eggplant in a grill pan, everything coated with olive oil, then sprinkled it with hot pepper flakes. Broiled the red pepper, and steamed the broccoli. I hied myself into the garden for fresh basil, and made a half recipe of pesto genovese, which is the world's best pesto and takes mere minutes in a blender. Substituted almonds for pine nuts with no loss of quality. I mix some pesto into the now poached chicken breast cut into bite size pieces.
The chicken pesto used to be on the antipasto menu of a big Boston chain, Bertucci's, but they seem to have discarded it, but I figured out how to make it, so no big deal. I lined one platter with red leaf lettuce and the other with raddicchio, and arranged the antipasto on the platters. Not only was it scrumptious, it looked like a million dollars, and the effort was minimal.
Way back when I was a kid, my mom made a wonderful casserole of chicken, cheese, pasta and breadcrumbs. Even when I didn't like ANYTHING, I liked that. Found a recipe in Gourmet that served 12, that had most of the same ingredients, but updated from the 50's into more of a well, gourmet creation. Made that, and my god it was beyond belief. Not laborless, understand, but you got a long of bang for two chickens, some cheese, and a pound of imported rigatoni from Ocean State Job Lot. To die for. My mom's recipe was called Huntington Chicken.
Dessert was my mom's (what would we do without good old Mom?) lemon squares, the best ever, and made with fresh lemon juice of course. You don't use UnReal Lemon with all the off flavors and chemicals, do you? For shame. We whipped up some lemon lime ice milk and some fresh strawberry ice cream. The ice cream maker has done yeoman's duty since we figured out how to use it.
The best part, of course, except for seeing dear old friends is the leftovers. What a feast we had for lunch on the antipasto, and the chicken casserole had not deteriorated with age. Au Contraire. So now I'll have to diet all week, but it will have been worth it. One hopes.
We fed the cows the veggie scraps, and I would like to report that they do not at all like and in fact shunned the lettuce and raddichio that had been exposed to oil and vinegar. Acted like it was cow poison. Don't know what that's about. They liked everything else, and scarfed it down. The sweet faced young bull is no longer part of the herd. I knew he was on loan from another herd. He was the rascal who escaped a month or so ago. We'll miss his pleasant disposition and his randiness. Old Mama (Maggie) looks like she's preggars again. Big as a barn, and an odd time to calve. Whatcha gonna do? I dearly love those big creatures.
Onward,
Grapeshot
We had a dinner party last night for some of my old colleagues from IT days, and spouses. We began with an antipasto to die for.I pulled out all the stops, with a trip to the Wasik's cheese shop in Wellesley, for Swiss Emmental, Parmigiano from Parma, grated to powder, Insalata Ricotta, and a couple of Italian cheese I substitued for Provlone and Fontina. Soft cheeses, with lots of flavor.The parmesan and the emmental were for the main course, more of that later.
Then I hurried to Roche brothers for fresh mozzarella, the little balls, not the big ones. Bought kalamata olives, and some mushrooms in a vinaigrette, canned artichoke hearts, a big eggplant, fresh broccoli and a red pepper. Salami, Sopressata, Mortadella, proscuitto and fresh chicken breast.Grilled the eggplant in a grill pan, everything coated with olive oil, then sprinkled it with hot pepper flakes. Broiled the red pepper, and steamed the broccoli. I hied myself into the garden for fresh basil, and made a half recipe of pesto genovese, which is the world's best pesto and takes mere minutes in a blender. Substituted almonds for pine nuts with no loss of quality. I mix some pesto into the now poached chicken breast cut into bite size pieces.
The chicken pesto used to be on the antipasto menu of a big Boston chain, Bertucci's, but they seem to have discarded it, but I figured out how to make it, so no big deal. I lined one platter with red leaf lettuce and the other with raddicchio, and arranged the antipasto on the platters. Not only was it scrumptious, it looked like a million dollars, and the effort was minimal.
Way back when I was a kid, my mom made a wonderful casserole of chicken, cheese, pasta and breadcrumbs. Even when I didn't like ANYTHING, I liked that. Found a recipe in Gourmet that served 12, that had most of the same ingredients, but updated from the 50's into more of a well, gourmet creation. Made that, and my god it was beyond belief. Not laborless, understand, but you got a long of bang for two chickens, some cheese, and a pound of imported rigatoni from Ocean State Job Lot. To die for. My mom's recipe was called Huntington Chicken.
Dessert was my mom's (what would we do without good old Mom?) lemon squares, the best ever, and made with fresh lemon juice of course. You don't use UnReal Lemon with all the off flavors and chemicals, do you? For shame. We whipped up some lemon lime ice milk and some fresh strawberry ice cream. The ice cream maker has done yeoman's duty since we figured out how to use it.
The best part, of course, except for seeing dear old friends is the leftovers. What a feast we had for lunch on the antipasto, and the chicken casserole had not deteriorated with age. Au Contraire. So now I'll have to diet all week, but it will have been worth it. One hopes.
We fed the cows the veggie scraps, and I would like to report that they do not at all like and in fact shunned the lettuce and raddichio that had been exposed to oil and vinegar. Acted like it was cow poison. Don't know what that's about. They liked everything else, and scarfed it down. The sweet faced young bull is no longer part of the herd. I knew he was on loan from another herd. He was the rascal who escaped a month or so ago. We'll miss his pleasant disposition and his randiness. Old Mama (Maggie) looks like she's preggars again. Big as a barn, and an odd time to calve. Whatcha gonna do? I dearly love those big creatures.
Onward,
Grapeshot
Friday, August 17, 2007
Cat BLog Day
Running errands in Wellesley today. At Roche Bros. supermarket, I was behind a woman who spent $495.00 on groceries. She mentioned having company and grandkids. Gosh, I hope they eat all those red peppers she bought. That's even more than we spent at Raley's Supermarket in Reno before a trip to Burning Man. This week, all the movers and shakers are at the gun show in Reno. Stuff happens in the damnest places. www.burningman.com
I know one retired dot.com millioniare who travels across the country in a motor home with 4 cats. The mind boggles. I would be so paranoid that the cats would escape (freedom now!) that--well, I don't know what. The mind just boggles. Thisbe heard the dog next door bark on the deck and retreated inside. I'm not sure she knows what a dog is. Annie has been under the weather and hurled on the coffee table. A bulemic cat is a troublesome cat, but we love her. Life without cats is lonely.
The beautiful skinny woman was at Roche Bros again today. Must have traded her Mercedes in for an SUV. Of course, it might have been a Mercedes SUV or a Cadillic or whatever. I noticed the umpteen plastic bags (bad!) going into the trunk. Today she wore a long-sleeved shirt and slacks which made the stringiness less noticeable. Why isn't she on the Cape or the Islands? Inquiring mind want to know.
Significant Other remarked that the Wellesley store has a "better class of women" than some of the far flung less upscale suburbs. Of course he was speaking strictly of their physical appearance, not their kindliness or characters.
I posted a book review on Amazon of the latest Furst novel, The Foreign Correspondent. Yesterday I found a review of The Shadow Warriors which was pretty bad, but the reviewer sounded like she was having a bad time. Talk about generalities. She said good stuff too, but although I wrote the book, I still had no idea what she was talking about. Not a clue. So the criticism was not helpful.
Another rejection today for World of Mirrors. Since this was a non-MWA approved publisher, I didn't cry any rivers. We went for a long walk and I puttered around in the garden. We get a nice big tomato every day, and what could be better than that?
Insalata Capreses again tonight. The basil is stupendous.
Onward,
Grapeshot
I know one retired dot.com millioniare who travels across the country in a motor home with 4 cats. The mind boggles. I would be so paranoid that the cats would escape (freedom now!) that--well, I don't know what. The mind just boggles. Thisbe heard the dog next door bark on the deck and retreated inside. I'm not sure she knows what a dog is. Annie has been under the weather and hurled on the coffee table. A bulemic cat is a troublesome cat, but we love her. Life without cats is lonely.
The beautiful skinny woman was at Roche Bros again today. Must have traded her Mercedes in for an SUV. Of course, it might have been a Mercedes SUV or a Cadillic or whatever. I noticed the umpteen plastic bags (bad!) going into the trunk. Today she wore a long-sleeved shirt and slacks which made the stringiness less noticeable. Why isn't she on the Cape or the Islands? Inquiring mind want to know.
Significant Other remarked that the Wellesley store has a "better class of women" than some of the far flung less upscale suburbs. Of course he was speaking strictly of their physical appearance, not their kindliness or characters.
I posted a book review on Amazon of the latest Furst novel, The Foreign Correspondent. Yesterday I found a review of The Shadow Warriors which was pretty bad, but the reviewer sounded like she was having a bad time. Talk about generalities. She said good stuff too, but although I wrote the book, I still had no idea what she was talking about. Not a clue. So the criticism was not helpful.
Another rejection today for World of Mirrors. Since this was a non-MWA approved publisher, I didn't cry any rivers. We went for a long walk and I puttered around in the garden. We get a nice big tomato every day, and what could be better than that?
Insalata Capreses again tonight. The basil is stupendous.
Onward,
Grapeshot
Friday, July 13, 2007
We aren't in Norton anymore
S.O. and I lived in Wellesley for many years, up the hill from Little Italy in Precinct B, in a neighborhood called, "College Heights." The neighborhood was friendly and although the houses were nice enough, it was still the kind of neighborhood where you could mow you own lawn. If you get my drift. . .there are plenty of neighborhoods in this country where you would not dare mow your own lawn. Too long to explain, so think about it.
We drove through the area today after a few months without a drive-by, so to speak, and found 4 tear-downs. The two on Pleasant Street, a street of modest homes, were all right, not too ungainly and set back from the street. Looked like they belonged there.
The two others were godawful McMansions, right up to the lot lines, like ugly on an ape. I am sure glad I don't live across the street from those monstrosities.
In Wellesley, we always shopped at Roche Brothers, and as Proust would be the first to tell you, habit is a powerful thing, and after we moved we diddled around in Shaw's and Stop and Shop and found neither to our liking, so we drove the extra miles to Roche Brothers in Norton. The first time there, we asked for something not in stock, and mentioned (bad mistake) that we used to shop at the Wellesley Roche Bros. After a couple of times of this faux pas, we sucked it up and didn't ask anymore. S.O. mentioned that the female shoppers in the store were not the trophy wives one frequently saw in Wellesley. Well, duh!
Today, before the onslaught of house guests who must be fed, including one vegetarian, we had an errand to run in Wellesley and decided to do the grocery shopping at our old stomping grounds. The women were really noticable. Young and skinny and totally unlike the Norton matrons. I got string cheese, frozen pizza dough and $167.00 worth of groceries (ouch), and found some really nice slab bacon at the deli counter.
I noticed an attractive elderly woman in a Gloria Vanderbuilt wraparound dress and spike heels shopping. Pony skin purse that probably cost a grand. Now even in Wellesley, nobody wears spike heels to the grocery store, and so I took a second look. Cripes, it wasn't an elderly woman at all, it was the most glamourous woman from the workout club. Eight or nine years ago, when I first saw her, she was beautiful: slim, trim, but with a few modest curves, you know, breasts, butt, calves. She could pump iron like nobody's business. Drove a fancy car and once I noticed dry cleaner bags with Chanel clothes hanging in the back seat. A couple years later, she had dieted herself down to no breasts and no butt, and didn't look nearly so cute. Now, she is so stringy looking that I thought she was elderly. I mean, who else is stringy but old women? This is really sad. I was shocked.
It is a fact that is never mentioned that big time weight loss after 50 usually results in big time bags and wrinkles on the face and elsewhere. Sometimes a few extra pounds (I mean a few), are not a bad thing in a 50+ woman.
Actually this time of year, grocery shopping in Wellesley is usually a leisurely pursuit, since everyone is on the Cape, the Island, their yacht or up in Maine. Where-ever-the-hell.
I hope you don't live in a McMansion like Tony Soprano. Actually, his wasn't as big as the new ones in Wellesley, and at least he had two kids and some relatives. Some of the McMansions are inhabited by a childless couple or one couple and a baby. Well, I guess the inhabitants just have to each have an office and a media room and an exercise room and a whatever. Probably no one cooks in the big fancy Viking kitchen. At least Carmela cooked.
Grapeshot is feeling a little bah-humbug today. A trip to see how the other "half" lives will do that.
Onward, but god help us, not upward, at least not upwardly mobile.
We drove through the area today after a few months without a drive-by, so to speak, and found 4 tear-downs. The two on Pleasant Street, a street of modest homes, were all right, not too ungainly and set back from the street. Looked like they belonged there.
The two others were godawful McMansions, right up to the lot lines, like ugly on an ape. I am sure glad I don't live across the street from those monstrosities.
In Wellesley, we always shopped at Roche Brothers, and as Proust would be the first to tell you, habit is a powerful thing, and after we moved we diddled around in Shaw's and Stop and Shop and found neither to our liking, so we drove the extra miles to Roche Brothers in Norton. The first time there, we asked for something not in stock, and mentioned (bad mistake) that we used to shop at the Wellesley Roche Bros. After a couple of times of this faux pas, we sucked it up and didn't ask anymore. S.O. mentioned that the female shoppers in the store were not the trophy wives one frequently saw in Wellesley. Well, duh!
Today, before the onslaught of house guests who must be fed, including one vegetarian, we had an errand to run in Wellesley and decided to do the grocery shopping at our old stomping grounds. The women were really noticable. Young and skinny and totally unlike the Norton matrons. I got string cheese, frozen pizza dough and $167.00 worth of groceries (ouch), and found some really nice slab bacon at the deli counter.
I noticed an attractive elderly woman in a Gloria Vanderbuilt wraparound dress and spike heels shopping. Pony skin purse that probably cost a grand. Now even in Wellesley, nobody wears spike heels to the grocery store, and so I took a second look. Cripes, it wasn't an elderly woman at all, it was the most glamourous woman from the workout club. Eight or nine years ago, when I first saw her, she was beautiful: slim, trim, but with a few modest curves, you know, breasts, butt, calves. She could pump iron like nobody's business. Drove a fancy car and once I noticed dry cleaner bags with Chanel clothes hanging in the back seat. A couple years later, she had dieted herself down to no breasts and no butt, and didn't look nearly so cute. Now, she is so stringy looking that I thought she was elderly. I mean, who else is stringy but old women? This is really sad. I was shocked.
It is a fact that is never mentioned that big time weight loss after 50 usually results in big time bags and wrinkles on the face and elsewhere. Sometimes a few extra pounds (I mean a few), are not a bad thing in a 50+ woman.
Actually this time of year, grocery shopping in Wellesley is usually a leisurely pursuit, since everyone is on the Cape, the Island, their yacht or up in Maine. Where-ever-the-hell.
I hope you don't live in a McMansion like Tony Soprano. Actually, his wasn't as big as the new ones in Wellesley, and at least he had two kids and some relatives. Some of the McMansions are inhabited by a childless couple or one couple and a baby. Well, I guess the inhabitants just have to each have an office and a media room and an exercise room and a whatever. Probably no one cooks in the big fancy Viking kitchen. At least Carmela cooked.
Grapeshot is feeling a little bah-humbug today. A trip to see how the other "half" lives will do that.
Onward, but god help us, not upward, at least not upwardly mobile.
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