It’s “Hey Rene J” Today!

Time to buy stock again. It’s hay-fever season and there is no end to the sneezing and itchy nose business. As the gentle zephyrs blow everything around I am hoping for an early frost – even though it’s still August.

These things never bothered me in my youth. Why am I becoming a delicate flower now? It’s rather annoying. At least the imperceptible tremor in my left eye is gone, another annoyance brought on by either dry eyes or stress, fatigue, overuse…the possibilities there are endless. The optometrist gave me drops and said, “Some people have found tonic water helps, too.” So I tried both.

She didn’t say whether or not to add vodka, so as a precaution, I added a pinch. At least the sneezing didn’t bother me as much and the tremor is gone. Modern medicine!

The Rice Krispie expedition led me to ponder my grandfather’s breakfast habit. Along with the daily fried eggs and bacon he would have a bowl of cornflakes. It was a hearty meal, to be sure, the most important of the day!

He was a farmer who worked hard. He needed that fuel – and apparently double that. He would pour his cereal in a bowl, then crush the flakes with another bowl on top. Removing that he would pour more cereal on, crushing that. Then he could properly douse this huge bowl with milk and sugar. That energy sustained him until coffee break at 10 a.m. when my mother, with three littles in tow, would drive out to the farm to enjoy time with her parents. This is when my grandmother introduced the substance I would ascribe to for the rest of my life – coffee.

No wonder I so enjoy breakfast. It provides nourishment for the body and soul through food and memory.

Chatting with my sister I mentioned that I had three bags of marshmallows in my pantry. Apparently there were no s’mores made on the last camping expedition. A bag just appeared out of nowhere one day. The third was actually purchased for my fudge recipe. “You’ll have to make Rice Krispie treats,” exclaimed my sister.

I have never made RK treats. My children were deprived of this culinary delight. Research revealed that the recipe only takes three ingredients: butter, cereal and of course, an entire bag of marshmallows. I now have a grocery list with one item.

We’ll see how this adventure transpires.

It’s still the best! Even my third grade teacher rejoiced when she received my letter. I was thrilled to receive a reply yesterday. We are pen pals of a sort, reconnecting a few years back at a grade school reunion. She was the teacher who had me rewrite Archibald MacLeish’s play, “J.B.”, when I was in sixth grade. I still remember the opening lines, even though I don’t think I had a role in the production.

“The Escape of the Lime,” was a fine lengthy poem – about ten pages – which was also a product of her pedagogy. I couldn’t bear to part with that when I was purging old memories. It’s safely ensconced in a basement bin. She was definitely a winner in terms of teaching, and my class of nine fellow students had her for third, fourth, fifth and sixth grades. She followed us, knew our strengths and weaknesses, and prodded us to do better. When we matriculated to public education in seventh grade, we were ahead of the game. 60% of our class graduated in the top ten those many years ago. She’s the reason I think the “one room schoolhouse” experience is worthy of merit.

So, spurred on I wrote a letter to an old friend yesterday. Just spreading delight via mail.

Saturday I baked two cherry pies because my kitchen was an immaculate, gleaming, pristine room. It was just too clean, begging for a coating of flour over the counters and cabinets. I also baked bread.

Leftover pie has always been my favorite option for breakfast, slightly ahead of cold pizza. It’s just like a pastry? Now that it’s no longer a choice for my opening meal I guess I’ll consider a healthier option.

I wonder if I can make it to Winchell’s and back before the insurance adjuster visits this morning?

Yesterday Marie “Pachel” Kondo visited my home. She was swift and thorough, ruthless and yet caring. She let me keep a lonely sock because I liked the little alpaca on it and continue to hold out hope that I will find its match.

We didn’t do the “joy” thing. We did the, “Please tell me if this looks awful on me” approach. We came away with three garbage bags full. My wardrobe needed to breathe apparently – and now it does, with an empty shelf, half of a hanging rod open, and room for more shoes. The shoes were one bag all by themselves. Thankfully, nary a hat found a new home!

It’s good to have an honest opinion when the goal involves fashion. My closet still resembles a costume depository, so the transition to “stylish” may be a subtle, barely recognizable one. Whew!

Who doesn’t attend an Israeli brunch on a lovely Sunday?

Without knowing where I was going, friends took my daughter and I to the very cosmopolitan eatery offering this said fare. It was delightful and so good to get out of my suburban environ for a few hours.

Now, back to suburbia and the tasks at hand. Closet cleaning!

Birthstones and zodiac signs I do know, but flowers? I didn’t realize there are designated floral symbols for birth months. It’s a possible explanation for why I think irises are so very beautiful?

Anniversaries have designations. Maybe I’ll check that out today? With my luck the suggested gift for our year will be “cleaning products.”

’Tis a right foggy and dreary day, a change of pace. Perfect for long-displaced chores or finishing a novel, beginning a new project, or even lounging around enjoying the respite.

Tally-ho!

Last night members of the bridge group attended a concert at the Botanic Gardens. It is always wonderful to enjoy live music in a gorgeous outdoor setting, regardless of the musicians.

This was the only artist on the summer series I even recognized, so I recommended “Panita” secure the tickets for this particular evening. Inaccurate weather forecasts had us waiting out the rain before the concert and leaving during the lightning evacuation mid-performance. In between we listened to tunes, me somewhat irreverently as I couldn’t quite wrap my head around his 82-year old voice scratching out some songs I knew, and others I am quite happy to have never heard. I did have some extremely satisfying belly laughs though – those lyrics! I guess we all thought we were pretty special back in the 60’s and 70’s!

Perhaps my half-hearted appreciation led to God’s pity and our early dismissal. We decamped to JD’s Bait Shop, a dive bar near our carpool designation. A fitting end to our tame little group. We parted at the late hour of 8:30 pm, ready for the next adventure.