Author: smedmom1-admin

I love to cook…sometimes.

When the mood hits, I need to find the nearest cooking utensil and go for it. I love homemade food and I’m not afraid to make it.

The mood most often hits when I’ve spent some time looking for recipes. Something…anything new and delicious. The catch is the hubby has to want to eat it. If it is related to cheeseburgers, cheesesteaks or pizza, he’s in. Veggies and starches…not so much. It’s challenging. I went for a long time of not cooking because he wouldn’t eat what I cooked. He did not have the “Eat it or starve” experience growing up.

I also feel rather “cook-ish” when I am around gadgets. I could be the slice and dice queen of the world. I love gadgets! Some don’t make any sense (like a special peeler for hard boiled eggs, unless you have a reason to make several hundred). But they are all just kinda cool. I could never work in a restaurant supply or one of those kitschy kitchen stores that populate the overly priced destination shopping areas. Every week, I would leave with a sack of toys and a bill instead of a paycheck. I have no self control with these things, but if you want waffle cut carrots, come see me. I got just the thing! I have tons of “do-jiggers” from home parties of all sorts. No control, as I said.

I avoid them now for the most part…The parties, gizmo stores and yet there are more creative things on line. Everywhere I turn. It is now, in my retirement, that I am actually trying to use these things. That is provided that I actually recall what the particular item is for.

My Instant Pot is my latest toy. I am finding amazing recipes on line and many call for a gizmo accessory that did not come with the pot. Well, I just gotta get me the gizmo to make my life perfect! Having done some stuff with the instant pot, I can tell you that it really isn’t instant. It is an electric pressure cooker that allows you to sauté food before “pressuring” them. It seems a lot more benign that my parents old pressure cooker. That thing scared me to death. I still have nightmares about scraping Swiss Steak off of the ceiling! But so far, I have had no food volcanoes. I aim to keep it that way. I still have the old pressure cooker as a reminder of what could happen.

I have convinced myself that the next kitchen thingy will be when they invent a contraption that allows you to load the food in one end and have a complete and perfect meal, beautifully plated, come out of the other end.

Now THAT is a gizmo I could truly love!

Saying goodbye is never easy.

Especially when it is to a family member. Our dog, Casey, passed away after living to be about a bajillion in dog years. Even in her old age, she still managed to be the most unique dog we’ve ever had.

Unique? Yep, first of all, she was a PBGV. Now before you ask, it stands for Petite (small) Basset (low) Griffon (wirehaired) Vendeen (part of France). Picture a basset hound…with longer hair…who just licked an electrical outlet. That’s kind of what they look like. It’s a rare breed recently recognized by the AKC. From owning one, I can tell you that the most outstanding traits are the love to hunt (brought me a rat one time. Dead, but nonetheless), strong willed, protective (would lay across any pathway in the house to monitor comings and goings making human navigation more challenging.), and possessing the ability to burp like a trucker.

Another unique thing is how she came to live with us. Where I worked had daily deliveries. The drivers become well known to us. One day, the driver came in and told us about a dog that he had acquired from his sister via air transport. He had the dog with him and happily showed her off. He thought it was a basset hound mix. One look at her eyebrows (a breed trait), and I knew she was special.

Unfortunately, Casey didn’t get along with the family dog. And due to isolation at her former home, she wasn’t well socialized. So I offered to take her. I’ve dealt with problem adoptees before and this one wasn’t 120 pounds.

When we got her, her coat was clipped short. I couldn’t quite figure out why since the breed is fluffy. Soon I learned about her hatred for grooming. She snapped at brushes, combs and scissors. While okay with a bath, she would try to bite the brush while you were try to comb her out. As a result, she could mat up faster than any animal I’ve ever seen. Eventually, it meant a trip to the groomer to get clipped. Several groomers invited her to never come back as grooming her was akin to “grooming an alligator”.
Eventually, I found a mobile groomer who could get her decent looking with out the worry of a lawsuit.

For as often as she tried to eat groomers, vets were her go to snack. It took many veterinary offices to find one who could handle her. We stuck with them for the rest of her life. She still sat under the chair in the office with her back to vet every visit, but once we got her out in the open using spy and military tactics at times, he had her handled.

Casey spent everyday protecting us from the world. She learned under the careful tutoring of our senior basset and resident diva, Penny. She, then, taught a basset puppy everything. But if you were in the bathroom, she would lay outside. Bedroom? Casey was waiting inside the bedroom door to fend off attackers. She would trail my husband like a secret service agent up until her health denied her the ability.

She participated in expos, parades and picnics. Not happily, but still did what she had to do. Playing in the snow was a great deal of fun for her. She would come in covered in snowballs so dense that we would have to get the hairdryer to melt them so we could see her face!

Her favorite things were biscuits. Home made with cheese sauce. When these came into the house, she would actually quiver in anticipation. By the end of the treat, there was often cheese sauce all over her head. I can tell you that I don’t think that I have every enjoyed a food that passionately.

And that is how I knew when it was time for her to go to the vets for the last time. She refused her biscuit, and all other food. She paced and slept and withered away in a matter of days.

Her last unique act was that when we got her to the vet’s office, she passed away before he even got into the room. I suppose that is the ultimate way to avoid the vet.

Head strong and loving, troublesome but cute, Casey was a treasure that I’m happy that we found.

New year…new me. Not so fast.

It may be the new year, but from the looks of the mirror, it’s the same old me.

I make resolutions every year. I try to keep them simple and extremely doable. I’m not one of those people who sets themselves up for disappointment and self loathing. No, my resolutions are designed to help me succeed. (With the resolution anyway)

One year, I decided to give up smoking. Now to many, this is a daunting endeavor. But since I had never smoked, it was relatively simple to keep to this resolution all year long.

Another year, I promised myself not to buy a Rolls Royce. Another year of resounding success. The same with the promise not shoot a cannon. Not having a cannon helped…a lot. Not purchasing a three carat diamond was a challenge that my bank account and I rose to like champs. Clearly, deciding to refrain from unicorn breeding was a goal that stands in the “Done” column.

Well, this year, my goal became loftier given the scientific inroads that have been carved in the past few years. It balances on the cusp of my enjoyment of travel and my interest in all things science oriented. I grabbed at current headlines and am calmly declaring my self made promise for 2019.

I AM NOT GOING TO MARS THIS YEAR.

I will let you know how that turns out.

Happy 2019!

Today is my birthday.

So many people I know just hate their birthday. I don’t get it. It is my day of personal celebration. I get to look back on my year and look at the accomplishment and the things I need to do better. It’s sort of like a warm and fuzzy performance review.

I get to also look ahead. Take a peak into the next chapter of the Book of Me. I can write my own story.

Gifts are great, but the well wishes from friends are just as great. The people who go out of their way for me are so special to me. Remember awhile ago, I wrote about the Dog and Bull Pub? Well, they went above and beyond to make my day special. (Including whipping up something special for dinner for me). That’s a place where you know they value you. Plus everyone is so nice. I’m never just another body in the chair there. It truly is my “Cheers”.

My family fusses over me too. I eat that up. I talk to my daughter in Florida weekly. But today was was an extra chat. That’s awesome. My son wants to know when he can take me to dinner. I love grown kid time. That’s what all of that raising them was about. They are both great kids.

Not everything has always gone well on my birthday. In 2009, my dad died on my birthday. I miss him everyday. But the gift that came from that was knowing that the cancer that took him couldn’t hurt him anymore. Plus, I have another angel to keep an eye on me. (PS to this part…wear sunscreen…always)

So today is the start of my future. There are many roads that I have walked, but there are many more adventures to take.

Happy Birthday to me!

I hate magazine subscriptions.

Not as a gift per se, but once you give them as a gift, the renewal notices bombard you from ever angle. Eventually, you end up not knowing if you renewed the darn thing or not. You have 20 notices for the one magazine from 10 different return addresses.

I imagine that scammers are crazy sending fake renewals every ten minutes, in the hope that you will choose their renewal service to pay and never get the product.

There is also the fun of them making it look as if the a partial payment is all you owe. Only to find out later that the balance is due. Special deals are rarely special and never a deal.

After years of “renew now” offers, I have decided to just mark my calendar with the renewal date and throw out all of the rest of the envelopes…I mean recycle. Most with me never even opening them. I go directly to the website, not the “subscription” website, and look up the account to be sure the renewal date matches mine. Then I renew. Just about 30 days before expiration, maybe a bit more, I do the deed. In the age of computers and credit cards, nothing takes 6 to 8 weeks anymore. Don’t let them fool you. Just ask anyone addicted to Amazon (as I may or may not be) if the start to drool over their purchase arriving within 2 days. My digital books are even better! They appear almost instantly on my Ipad for my consumption.

But anyway, I still like print magazines. Even though you can’t enlarge the type by spreading two fingers across the page. It is convenient when I don’t have my ipad with me, or when Comcast goes down again, or when you forgot to charge up, etc.

Until they stop sending me millions of renewal notices, I will continue to hate subscriptions. It’s how I roll.

I have come under the scourge of the witness curse.

The witness curse is a made up term of mine to describe when you go to a restaurant, store or other venue and the experience is just fantastic. When you take someone else to show them how great the food, service, concept is…everything goes sideways. It is as if the universe has played you. You built this whole experience based on what happened to you only to be crushed and when sharing it with others.

For instance, I used one of those shopping services at the grocery store. It was amazing when the stuff I ordered was magically transported to my car and placed in the trunk. No more standing in line with surly cashiers, or having the person behind you ram you with their cart in an immobile checkout line like that will really get things moving. No more having virtual arguments with self check out while the next person in line nudges you along with their cart. No one is even near me with a cart! It was an smooth and awesome experience that everyone should take advantage of…just not on my pick up days.

I was so thrilled that with my next order, I took my friend to show her this 8th wonder of the world. We were chatting in my car while I was expecting the text that said my order was ready. The text never came. As the deadline for my pickup time loomed close, I called the store to ask what had happened. I was told that my order was almost done and they were running a little behind. I told my friend that this was not something that had happened the first time. We went to the store and waited while my order was shopped for and eventually brought to the car almost an hour late. Needless to say, she was not as excited about the service but was pleased that her ankle was safe from other carts.

Another time when the universe decided to yank my chain was at a fairly new eatery in my area. My first trip there was great! Good service, piping hot food served perfectly at our table. I was with a group and all of our entrees arrived hot and quickly.

I took my friend and we were the only two in the restaurant. Our server was new and a bit ditsy. She was not familiar with the food and did not know the menu. Once we thought that we got our order placed with reasonable accuracy, she came back and asked several questions about sides that didn’t come with the order according to the menu. The food arrived and was placed before us wrong. Two people in the place and our entrees were swapped. The sides were not gonna show and the avocado on my friend’s dish was not to be found. Several trips were needed to assure the server that we did not get sides but wanted the avocado. The food was just warm, but the plates were hot when we swapped the dishes. Needless to say, my friend was not impressed.

Another time, I took my son to an eatery only to have half the dinner served after waiting forever for the food. At least the main part of the entrée was delicious so it wasn’t all bad.

Luckily, more often than not, things happen the way they are supposed to happen. Friends are impressed and life is good. The witness curse will follow me until I am no longer on this mortal coil I am sure. It is nature’s way of being entertaining at my expense.

You never know when the goblins are going to attack.

Hey, do you want to go try this new place for dinner? It was wonderful when I was there.

Wear protective gear.

I have been extremely remiss my writing recently. I don’t even have an excuse. Hopefully, I will be able to put some posts together in a short time to catch up…to the deadline (that I don’t have).

Anyway, the ladies group decided to meet at a different venue. I was excited to try this newcomer to my hometown. The meeting gave me the perfect excuse.

La Choza is a cozy eatery that rose from a closed hardware/car supply/hunting store on the corner of State and Cedar in the heart of Old Croydon, PA. I was shocked to see an open, warmly welcoming room when I opened the door. The change was unbelievable. The deep red walls, open floor space and bright serapes on sparkling, clean wooden tables worked beautifully to create a Latina mood.

The menu is extensive. You can find a photo of it on the restaurant’s Facebook page. The selections are designed to cater to every taste. From hamburgers to goat stew and everything in between, there is something for every one. (Yes, even chicken fingers for the little ones). Our group was about 20 strong. They let us order off of the regular menu. Much to my amazement, our dinners came out all together, hot and nicely plated. The table sported everything from seafood pasta to burritos to tacos and frijitas.
My Loma Saltada was a thinly sliced steak cooked with onions and tomatoes in an amazing sauce. It came with rice and (surprisingly) French fries. I could’ve done without the fries but they did a good job of sopping up the delicious sauce. In all honesty, they were good on their own…crispy outside, fluffy inside. It was all I could do to keep from licking the plate. The frijitas were generously sized but came with only 3 tortillas. I imagine you could ask for more. The accompaniments were generous as well. Portions were large and prices in line with today’s dining trends.

There is no bar although there seems to be a set up for one in the back of the dining area. Perhaps that is to come. Beverages are canned and bottled for the most part, served cold with a tall glass of ice.

Dessert… was…amazing! I had the flan. Prettily plated and sweetly smooth, the flan was like heaven in a restaurant. Other desserts looked enticing as well. The tres dulce leches cake was popular and sweet.

This is the place to go to try new and flavorful menu items. The atmosphere welcomes groups, families and date nighters. Try it. I think you’ll be pleased by this little Latin gem in the heart of Croydon.

This blog article is about politics. If you are expecting a rant about Trump, pro or con, it is not here. Maybe some other time when he does something that has an effect on me. But now I would like to talk about how political ads have started following advertising trends with starting earlier and earlier.

July 4th no sooner gets dark when “Back To School” ads start running. August ushers in the Halloween/Thanksgiving sales. And Christmas sales start, well, December 26th. Political ads are running wild now and it is only August 3rd.

Now I get that people should know who is running, but things have gotten out of hand. Ads have dissolved over the years to name calling, mud slinging, playground antics. By November, I will know every flaw that the candidates have because their opponents will dredge up every parking ticket, failed endeavor, and missed dentist appointment since the opponent was six. Conversely, I will know about the personal life including his successful floss to brushing rate of the other side when the mud gets fired back. Great. I’m sure that this is what the government is supposed to be. How can we elect a candidate who may or may not be in the throes of gingivitis?

I have a challenge for any politician who cares to step up. Run a clean campaign. There are bunches of political groupies out there who run ads to disparage candidates of the opposite camp. That’s all they do. Just professionally mud sling. Not bad if you can work like that. You get to tap into your inner terrible child and go for the gold. Do we need to know this stuff? In some cases, yes. But most of what I see…not really relevant.

Tell me, Mr/Ms Candidate, what you intend to do…and keep it real. You can’t run for a low level office and tell me you’re gonna overturn Roe v Wade. You can’t. You just can’t. That stuff is bigger than you.
Tell me that you are going to look at why my tax bill is so high and my services so low. Tell me how you are going to my town a better place to live. Tell me that you are going do something about the crime rate whatever the prevailing crime is in my area. If you are running for an office that is more service oriented, tell me about your personal dedication to doing a good job, every day. That’s the candidate I want.

Don’t make your campaign about one topic. You may not be in favor of abortion, but what about taxes, spending, and public safety? Gun laws…if you can make them better, ok. If you can’t, don’t talk about it until you know you can make a difference. Oh and making it illegal to own a gun won’t help. In New Jersey, the gun laws are super strict, but there is always a shooting in Newark, Trenton or Camden splashed on the news. There has to be a better way.

We tell kids not to be bullies on the playground or in school, but we are watching 30 seconds of bullying several times a night. Stop it!

We, in the Northeast have had our fair share of mud this summer. Literally. Flood watches dot our weather forecasts weekly. Hose off your campaigns and let us know what YOU intend to do. Voters will be happier to get a person in office who is there do the work, not just collect the benefits.

C’mon, show us what you got!

There is nothing better than an evening out with your child once the child is a grown up and can pay for said evening. My son gave me a gift certificate to Del Frisco’s in Philadelphia. I love it. He’s employed, a home owner, and single (just saying). He’s also funny and kind. That’s sort of a bonus.

Anyway, I made reservations on a Monday night after looking at the website. The interior of the restaurant is a former bank. Sky high ceilings and a real bank vault are highlighted in the pictures as is the three story wine case. Seven O’clock seemed to be a very “city” time for dinner, so I went with that.

Del Frisco’s earned a solid 90% from me. Let me tell you the pluses. The building, while it looks amazing in the pictures, is jawdroppingly gorgeous in person. A must see for sure. The original ceiling with the designs and rosettes is pristine. The columns are original as well. Decorated in rich reds sets off the warm wood and cool marble of the room creating a very rich and subdued atmosphere. It was a little loud and chilly as you would expect of a large open, marble room. Bring a sweater. Once seated, our servers were pleasant, knowledgeable and fun to talk to about the food and architecture.

The signature drink, the VIP, is fantastic. Clementine vodka and pineapple cured together for a refreshing cocktail with a real orange twist! You are hard pressed to find a bartender who knows what a “twist” is anymore. For those of you who don’t know, it is a sliver of citrus peel (orange, lemon, lime) , just the colorful part, twisted to release the oils into your drink and nested on the edge of your glass.

For an appetizer, we shared the calamari. Neither of us wanted to be too full for dinner. It was done perfectly with a sweet Thai chili taste and peanuts. No rubberband-like squid here. But as I said, I have to be very moderate because I had been looking forward to my steak all day.

And I was not disappointed. My filet was perfect with a pepper crust and exactly medium doneness.
Mushrooms and onions made a perfect combination with the peppery steak. They had a wonderful garlic tone to them without being overcome by it.

Asparagus was our other choice of side dish (served family style for sharing). Healthy stalks with sliced almonds…not too bad but I do prefer that white ends taken off the vegetable before serving.

It was the sort of meal that you were sorry to see end. It was THAT delicious. To finish up, I had a crepe brûlée. It passed muster nicely with a light sugar crust on a smooth custard served with red raspberries and a lighter than air lemon cookie.

Excellent service and an excellent meal. So why the points off? Why not 100%? Well, being an older American there are some ambulatory issues that I face. The valet service was nice but pricy. It isn’t in front of the restaurant but on the 15th St side. So it was a hike around the corner of the building and over the homeless to the restaurant. But I accept this as part of being in the city. Once inside the lobby area, there is no place to sit and catch your breath while you wait for for hostess. I sat on the stairs in the coat room until our hostess was back and ready to seat us. There is an elevator but it appears to be only for wheelchairs, luckily the steps are low and wide. It was not a hard climb.

On exiting, the doorman was a homeless person with a quart sized deli container that he jingled for tips. The valet went for the car right away as we waited with others. There is no place to sit and no shelter. Luckily, it was not raining but the wait is substantial. I sort of felt bad for the blonde in the four inch heels and short dress. She even asked how far away they had to park. My feet hurt looking at her. If it had been a rainy night, her outfit would be decimated. Again, you can’t even wait in the lobby because there are no seats.

A couple of chairs, inside and out, and maybe a pop up tent (all of which could be taken down at the end of the night), would have been appreciated and boosted the score to 100 with no problem.

On the way home, my son and I enjoyed the sights and sounds of the city. Noticing many young ladies out for a girl’s night, my son decided he needs to spend more time in Center City after work hours. We went past tent city to see what the protest du jour was. It was the ICE issue. And we watched the skyline fade very slowly from sight as we inched along in the one open lane of 95 northbound through the construction that will never end.

One great evening…who imagined that the little boy would one day be such a good son.

Being of the female persuasion, I am constantly looking for new things to do to myself. Seek a new style, a new body shape are popular, but the most realistic would be a new hair style. I amuse myself at the hair salon by flipping through magazines to see if a haircut catches my eye. I’d have a photo and everything. I’d make life easier for my stylist and I’d come out looking EXACTLY like the 20 something model, Right?! Well, that answer is no on many accounts. The first and foremost is… I’m not 20 something. Not even a little bit 20 something. I don’t remember 20 something it’s been so long ago. But that’s ok, because now I have wisdom.(giggle)

At the end of my journey through the magazines, I dutifully report to the lady who does the shampoo to get the color out of my hair. Being a natural blonde every five weeks is not as easy as you would expect. From there I go to the “chair” and invariably announce that we are doing the same cut. Why?! You may ask. There are forty three billion other styles in the magazine! But I say to you…the models all look like they are extremely pained to have their hairstyle. The pouts and frowns(without wrinkles) all look like they would like to slap the stylist for giving them this cut. And by pained, I mean disgust. I mean displeasure. I mean bad seafood pain.

There is even a name for it…moue. It’s pronounced moo, like cow. What makes the publishers, photographers and the models think that this is going to encourage me to get my hair cut like that?!
I have no desire to run around all day looking like I just found half of a worm in an apple. I want a hair cut that makes me feel happy. Make me feel pretty!

Why are these models so unhappy? I’d be thrilled to be 20 something with a paying job. If you ask the great and mighty Google, you get many articles explaining that smiling is just not done. Models are expected to have a dour or neutral expression. To be, as the article says “walking clothes hangers”. I’m sorry but I was raised in a time when models smiled and acted as if they enjoyed the hair that was styled for them or clothes that they wore. A much more vivid time when real personalities came to be displayed before us. The thought process was…I want that to be me! So I got the shag hair cut, I bought the outfit, I got the shoes. Now I could be as cool as that model!

I guess I have to get over the being happy thing. Head down, eyes up, look like your gonna blow at any moment. It’s not me. It’s not how you sell me something and I’m sure not gonna get my haircut to make me miserable! So for now, until I find something that looks like it will make me happy, it’ll be the same cut, please.

Someday the moue-ing models may smile. Maybe after they eat something.